


Dreaming Red

by lizzledpink



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, Bisexual Character, Body Horror, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Lyrium Addiction, Mild Blood, Multi, Withdrawal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-04 02:41:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 94,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2906192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizzledpink/pseuds/lizzledpink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate future can be wiped away from time, but its footprints, Cassandra finds out, might still remain in the Fade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Cassandra-centric fic which assumes knowledge of the quests "In Hushed Whispers" and "Here Lies the Abyss." Please enjoy!

After they returned from Redcliffe, Cassandra woke up in the middle of the night, sweating and breathing hard, but she couldn't remember what she had been dreaming.

Just that it was red.

Picturing the color made her feel shaky. She pulled herself up and sat on the side of her bed, covering her face with her hands. She hadn't had a nightmare that bad in weeks. Not since immediately after the conclave.

Cassandra grimaced. She'd heard Lavellan's reports, just like the rest of them, and she had been to the Temple of Sacred Ashes and seen the red lyrium there. She could put two and two together. The idea that in an alternate future, she'd been consumed by red lyrium, had been the source of her fear.

Something didn't seem quite right about that conclusion, but it was still enough to calm her slightly. She forced herself to take deep breaths until the last traces of her fear had passed, leaving only unease.

They had successfully secured the mages' assistance. Perhaps Lavellan had allowed them a little more leeway than she would have liked, but the decision was made, and so far, the mages had been cooperative. Their goal was the close the breach within a week.

Cassandra sighed and lay back down again. There was work to be done and she would need to be well-rested to for it.

She'd have to negotiate with the mages over the question of templars... They'd have to ensure and organize the trip up to the breach... Maker willing, perhaps they'd finally find some brief measure of peace.

-

The morning found her more irritable than she would have liked, but there was no helping it. Still, she felt some regret.

The mage who had been making requests at her was an ass, but he was a harmless ass, for as far as she knew Former Enchanter Fiona had given him no acknowledgement. He was shouting for shouting's sake. Cassandra was really only a little chagrined that she hadn’t been able to handle him with more… finesse, really.

Cassandra felt a little worse about Lavellan. Just because she hadn't slept well and had to deal with an irritating man, didn’t mean she should have been taking any of her frustrations out on Lavellan, or blaming her. It was clear to Cassandra that Lavellan truly believed that mages deserved a chance, and that given the opportunity, they would live up to the task before them. Cassandra would be lying if she said she wasn't a little worried, but she could admire Lavellan's belief, and she would support their Herald's decision to the best of her ability.

She hoped Lavellan realized that as well, after her misstep.

Cassandra hacked at a training target, trying to wake herself up as well as give herself a little bit of a cooldown. Fighting focused her, made her fit better into the world. It reminded her what she was capable of, and what she was not.

“Everything alright, Cassandra?” Cullen walked over from his usual position overseeing the troops.

“Fine,” Cassandra said, stilling her movements. “Did you need something?”

“Just thought you looked like you could use a friendly ear,” Cullen replied, leaning on the hilt of his sword. “First that mage who’s been hassling as many of us as he can find, then the Herald leaves and you’re beating up on that poor target.”

Cassandra shrugged, and turned the motion into a roll of her shoulders. “I did not sleep very well,” she admitted. “It’s not a problem. Lavellan’s experience yesterday… unsettled me.”

“What, the one where she went into a future where nearly all of us were most likely dead? I think I can relate.”

“Not all of us were dead, commander,” Cassandra replied, her voice a little sharper. “Some of us were finding ourselves slowly consumed by a mysterious and deadly form of lyrium, apparently.”

“Oh, I see. Fear of lyrium taking all you have until there’s nothing left for it to take?” said Cullen. “Completely understandable. But you’re right, I really can’t relate to that.”

Cassandra blinked in surprise and turned to meet his eyes. “Oh.” When Cullen only gave her a slight smile in reply, she shook her head. “And now I’ve put my foot in my mouth once again. This really isn’t my morning. You have my apologies.”

“No offense taken, I promise. I only meant to remind you that there are many here who would gladly listen, if you needed to talk. Not even necessarily me, either.”

“I appreciate the reminder,” Cassandra said, genuinely a little warmed. “Right now I think I’d rather slash at something, but I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. I hope you know I’d do the same for you - though perhaps some other day when I won’t be saying the wrong thing every few minutes.”

“Good to know. Thank you.” Cullen started to turn, but then stopped, looking back. “May I make a suggestion?”

“Of course.”

“I might be wrong, but you strike me as the sort of person who is much better at dealing with something if you have a good, solid understanding of it.”

“That sounds like me, yes.”

“Talk to Varric when you have a chance. He has more experience with red lyrium, and Lavellan said he was the other one she met in that future. If you say you want to learn whatever he can tell you about red lyrium, I’m sure he would understand.”

“Varric?” Cassandra considered the idea for a moment. On one hand, Cullen was entirely correct that Varric was their resident red lyrium expert, and knowing more about it would definitely do her some good. On the other hand, she felt just as likely to be tormented by Varric as helped. He had proven useful to the Inquisition, but he still made it his personal business to get on her every nerve.

“I’ll think about it,” Cassandra said, but she knew it was very, very unlikely.

“Do that. Good luck with your conversations today,” said Cullen, strolling away.

“Thanks. Maker knows I’ll need it,” said Cassandra.

“Exactly!”

Cassandra resisted the urge to roll her eyes and went back to slashing at her target.

Perhaps Cullen’s advice was sound. She didn’t have to bring the personal side of things into it. Now that they knew for certain that red lyrium would play a part in the future endeavors of this Elder One, she had good reason to look into it. The Inquisition could use a clearer picture of what they were up against.

And if learning more about red lyrium put her mind at greater ease, all the better. Dragging the information out of Varric would be a task, but she had done it before. She could do it again.

Although, she would probably have to treat Varric as an ally and not a prisoner this time. Hmm.

“Cassandra!” Lavellan shouted at her ten minutes later. “We’re heading out towards to Redcliffe to wrap a few things up before… before! Want to come? Ought to be plenty of bandits!”

“Sounds like fun, Herald!” Cassandra called back. Apparently, she’d been forgiven.

-

The Fade left Cassandra alone that night, and the night which followed after that. Her dreams were peaceful, though she remembered nothing of them. It was the third night that the dream returned, and with it, it brought again that creeping sense of fear, of whispers inside of her that she couldn’t control. She could see it, even feel it in her fingers. It was warm. The sensation was almost too real, and Cassandra wondered if a little bit of reality wasn’t creeping into the Fade to haunt her dreams.

She understood little of the Fade, however. She wasn’t even certain that such a thing was possible. Perhaps. Perhaps not.

It didn’t matter; what did matter was that she still had not addressed the subject, and that was remiss of her. Cassandra resolved that very day to speak with Varric.

But first, if she couldn’t sleep, she needed to relax. Cassandra reached for her bedstand and pulled out a drawer. She pulled out her copy of _Hard in Hightown_ and flipped to her bookmark, somewhere in chapter five. Captain Brennokovich’s antics would help her calm down.

Shortly after her initial rounds of Haven, Cassandra walked over to his pet campfire, stole a chair, and sat down. “Varric.”

“Why, hello, Seeker,” said Varric. He grinned at her openly. “How nice to see you again. Go on, sit down, thank you for asking, nice weather we’re having, isn’t it?”

Cassandra sighed. “Yes, it is. May I ask you about something, Varric?”

“Of course,” Varric replied. He sat down himself, leaning forward with his hands clasped together as if he was ready to make some kind of deal. “See? A little politeness goes a long way.”

“Pity I’m not very good at it then,” said Cassandra. “Varric, I want to go over everything you know about red lyrium.”

“Same as our Herald, huh?”

“Lavellan, too?”

“Yeah.” Varric scratched the back of his head. “She was able to add another piece to the puzzle of red lyrium. Not a good one, exactly.”

“The part where it seems to eat people alive, producing more red lyrium from them?”

“That’s the one,” Varric said tiredly. “Red lyrium seems likes it’s capable of more than I’d even imagined.”

“What had you imagined?”

“I don’t know. But that wasn’t it. What do you want to know, Seeker?”

“Anything. Everything. What it is. What it can do to you.”

“Much of that you already know. You tortured my whole story out of me, remember?”

Cassandra sighed, feeling her temper rising slightly. “There was no ‘torture’ involved and you know it.”

“Right, right. You did stab my book though.”

“It was _my_ copy of your book, and - and I did not come here to fight about this. I came here to try to learn more about what we’re up against. Understand?”

Varric gave her a long, scrutinizing look. “Alright, Seeker. Let me see what I can scrounge up that you don’t already know. What did I tell you about that little raid on the family manor?”

“You and Hawke stormed the place because it was said to be haunted, but there was only demons and Bartrand. You found out the lyrium idol was driving him mad, and gave him a merciful death, but then Hawke had to persuade you not to keep a piece of the idol.”

“That’s most of it. Good memory. But I think I really only gave you a third-person account of that last bit.”

“A third-person account?”

“You know, talked about it like it wasn’t happening to me. It’s been years now and it still creeps me out a little, so when I talk about it, I tend to keep a bit of distance.” Varric settled into his seat and stared at the fire for a moment. “It was… It wasn’t good. All I’d done was be around it a little, nothing more, and it was already in my head. Not much, but enough that I didn’t want to part with it. It was warm, almost comforting in a horrific sort of way, and if you left it out in the dark, it would glow. On my more dramatic days, I’d compare it to the eye of a demon watching you. These days, if there’s red lyrium around, I won’t be able to rest until I smash it myself. Otherwise… I guess I get worried I might not be willing to smash it.”

“Did its effects go away once you got away from it for a while?”

“Sure. Doesn’t keep me from feeling wary about it, though.”

Cassandra shook her head. “No, I imagine not.”

“It’s weird, too. There must be something very different about it from regular lyrium. Different to the bone.”

“What makes you say that?”

Varric frowned. “It affected Bartrand. More than that, it affected me, too. We’re _dwarves_. This kind of shit doesn’t happen to us. No Fade, no dreams, no magic, no lyrium, no nothing. This red lyrium has stripped away that security. Its effect on us, from what I could tell, was just as bad as its effect on people like Meredith. Maybe even worse - but then, that could have just been Bartrand. Bartrand was probably already a dragon-shit backstabber well before the idol could get any kind of hold on him.”

“That… _is_ strange.”

“Yeah. Didn’t mention it because it didn’t seem relevant at the time, but that thought’s been rattling around in my head for a while.”

Varric had an excellent point, one which Cassandra was at a loss to explain. She was no expert on the subject of the Fade, but Varric was spot on. Dwarves should have had the least to fear from the threat of red lyrium. That they were affected too was worth concern.

“Does that help you at all with your puzzling, Seeker?”

“Maybe. Have you brought this up with Solas? If there’s anything he knows about the dwarves’ lack of connection to the Fade…”

“He might be able to get something about red lyrium out of that. Good point. I’ll have to pull him aside and ask him sometime.”

“You do that,” Cassandra said. Perhaps she hadn’t found any concrete answers, but now, she had at least one question to pursue. That would help. She also knew for certain that she wasn’t the only one on the team who would be very cautious around red lyrium, and that was comforting in its own way.

Varric coughed. “Lavellan’s story got to you, didn’t it?”

Cassandra nearly jumped out of her seat. “I’m trying to collect information a possible threat, Varric.”

“That’s not a no. I’ll be a hypocrite for saying so, but don’t let it get you down, Cassandra. We know he’s coming. It’s not gonna happen. Neither of us is going to find ourselves growing big red spikes out of our asses any time soon. Just have to convince our heads of that.”

“Are you _comforting_ me?” Cassandra blurted.

Varric smiled again, leaning back in his seat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and if I did, I’m sure it would never happen again. Go away, Seeker. You got what you came for, so go knock a couple of mage heads around and cheer yourself up.”

Cassandra got to her feet. “Do you think that’s all I do? Knock heads around?”

“Of course not! You killed a dragon! I’m sure you knock plenty of tails around too.”

She couldn’t help but give a disgusted noise at that. “Thanks for your help, Varric,” she grumbled, though she couldn’t quite muster any sincerity for it.

“Sure thing!”

-

They closed the Breach.

The celebration was loud and startling and all Cassandra wanted to do was sleep. It seemed like red lyrium had decided it would only let her rest every few days. She was only thankful that its pull on her mind seemed to be only a figment of her imagination that disappeared when she awoke, and no more. Talking with Varric had brought her more peace of mind about the whole ordeal, but her nightmares had not changed.

She would have to thank him, properly, sometime when he wasn’t being quite as much of a pig as usual.

But there would be no time for that now.

They lit up the mountain down all the paths and crossings, stampeding over every end, and when they came close, she saw them for what they were. They were infested with red lyrium, all of them. Some worse than others, but all of them glowed red somewhere, whether from vivid protrusions on their mottled skin, or merely drifting like a fine haze before their eyes.

The terror the sight caused in her was familiar, and that familiarity made it very, very easy for her to strike.

-

She didn’t sleep long enough to dream for a week after, between Haven and the move to Skyhold. When she finally did, she collapsed in bed and slept for hardly a few hours before she was up again, shaking. The sensation was more specific, this time: she could feel it slipping down her throat; her hands and legs were bound somehow by ropes that didn’t exist. Just as with her last dream, the lyrium was warm. Her dreams had known that before Varric had told her.

Cassandra wondered when she’d picked up such an inventive imagination. Certainly not from Varric. _Damn_ Varric. Damn his lying and damn his silver tongue.

She still couldn’t believe the stunt he’d pulled with Hawke. He’d lied to a Seeker - to her - and she’d believed him. She’d trusted him. She’d even been about to thank him when he pulled her aside first and told her that Hawke was standing up on the ramparts.

To an extent, she did understand, but she was still furious. How was she supposed to trust him after that?

That day people walked around her gingerly. She couldn’t blame them. She had bags in her eyes that make-up had only somewhat hidden, and she’d accidentally barked at no less than three soldiers before noon. She couldn’t get her mind off Varric’s deception, the strange specificity of her nightmares, or the sight of those red templars assaulting Haven. Worse still, _Hard in Hightown_ was doing nothing for her. As interested as she was to find out about Captain Belladonna’s intentions, she couldn’t ignore the fact that Varric was the only reason Captain Belladonna existed in the first place, and she was very mad at him.

She needed to find _some_ stress reliever if she was going to survive this day, or maybe this week. Perhaps if Varric’s books wouldn’t work, then something else would? Other books, maybe? If there was the slightest chance that the Inquisition’s library had novels _other_ than those written by Varric, maybe that would be her ticket in.

Trying to look as unassuming as possible, she strode towards the library. Solas glanced at her on her way up, but she ignored him. Hopefully he would only think that she was paying Leliana a visit, though she had been avoiding it. Why on earth Leliana was fond of high, dark places full of birds, Cassandra would never know.

Quietly, trying to act like she had every right to be there, and feeling as though Helisma and Fiona - okay, maybe not Helisma - were staring at her, she began peering at the shelves in search of even one blessed work of fiction.

“Looking for something?”

“Andraste’s sword arm!” Cassandra nearly tripped over a desk moving away from the voice. She scowled and turned back around, where Dorian was trying to stifle laughter, and failing badly. “Don’t do that! How _did_ you do that?”

“Little trick I picked up from Sera. I’ve never walked quieter! What is our esteemed Seeker doing in the Inquisitorial library? We still don’t have the bulk of the texts we need, but if we have it, I’m sure I could help you find it.”

Cassandra could never tell if Dorian was flirting or just being troublesome. “Nothing important,” she replied. “Just… Never mind. I’ll come back later. I might have more luck when more books come in, anyway.”

“No, no! I mean it! This is a completely genuine offer, I swear it.”

She wasn’t sure whether she could trust him. Perhaps if she avoided the topic of _exactly_ what she was looking for? “...You won’t tell anyone?”

“Oh, it’s a _secret_ , is it? I swear I won’t tell a soul.”

“Fiction.”

“Fiction?” Dorian lifted his hand to his chin in thought. “Now, that’s unexpected. I don’t think we have very much, but if we do, I believe they would have been sorted over on the other side of the library. Follow me.”

She followed him and he quickly led them to the whole of the Inquisition’s fiction section, which consisted of… Varric Tethras’ books.

Dorian’s face fell when he saw them. “Hmm. Now that I think of it, we might not actually have any fiction besides this. It’s entirely possible that Varric simply took a shelf one day and nobody argued.”

“He’d be quite insulted right now to hear you calling _The Tale of the Champion_ fiction,” Cassandra muttered, sighing. “Well, it was worth a look. ...Is this even a full collection?”

“I… I wouldn’t know.” Dorian squinted at the shelves. “You know, I don’t think it is. I’m sure Varric bragged of writing more than this.”

Without thinking about it, Cassandra made a mental checklist and checked them off. “They’re missing… both _Hard in Hightown_ and _Hard in Hightown: Siege Harder_ , _Swords & Shields_, _The Mage of the Anderfels_ , and even _Slaver’s Chase_.”

When Cassandra looked back up at Dorian, he was stunned.

“Shit.”

“ _Cassandra_ ,” Dorian gasped. “Really?”

“I am not discussing this with you,” said Cassandra. She began walking around the library back to the steps as fast as she could possibly manage. Was she blushing? Probably. Damn.  

“Oh, yes you are. You’ve read these?”

“Be _quiet_ , Tevinter!”

“Come on, at _least_ give me some recommendations!”

“Recomm-” Cassandra spun back around. “What do you mean recommendations?”

“They don’t exactly sell fine Free Marches dwarf-written fiction freely up in Minrathous, you know! Everybody else around here seems to at least know what Varric writes, even _you_! I want in!”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Of course I can, the impossible has happened: I’ve found out that Cassandra Pentaghast reads Varric Tethras’ books. Surely me wanting to read them as well pales in comparison.”

“Fine,” said Cassandra. “You want my recommendation, Dorian?”

“Absolutely.”

“They’re all terrible. That’s your only warning.”

“Terrible is my favorite kind of book. You won’t frighten me away with as little as that.”

“They get… smutty.”

“Better and better!”

Cassandra huffed. “You’re sure?”

“Absolutely. And like I said, I won’t tell a soul.”

“Fine. Come by my room later tonight and I’ll lend you my copy of _The Mage of the Anderfels_. I’d give you _Hard in Hightown_ , but I’m not quite finished with it yet. And _don’t_ say another word.”

Dorian mimicked zipping his lips shut.

Strangely in a better mood than before, Cassandra shook her head and walked away.

-

The next time Cassandra had the dream, she heard herself scream.

-

At some point, Cassandra finally worked up the courage to go speak to Hawke. She was… she was exactly as Varric had described her. Somehow it just made it worse. Cassandra slunk away with a sense of nervous awe that felt identical to when she had first met Divine Justinia, and wondered if she’d work up the courage to speak to her again.

The recently-appointed Inquisitor decided that they needed to hold a stronger presence in Orlais. Cassandra couldn’t disagree, given all that was at stake, but there was still a part of her that was grumpily wondering why she, of all people, had to be part of that endeavor on this particular day.

She was in a bad mood before the venture had even properly started. The Emerald Graves were beautiful in their way, but they were so green that all a person had to do was wear a little of it themselves to blend right in. She half expected these “Freemen” to jump out of every other tree. For some reason, the sunlight through the trees around noon was for some reason utterly blinding, far too bright.

Dorian, Varric, and the Inquisitor were also very, very bright. All seemed well-rested and chipper, cheerful in each other’s company. As they walked, Varric was telling a fanciful story about a young Tevinter woman he and Hawke had once met and nearly been killed by.

It was actually a somewhat interesting tale, for the little she heard of it. But it only made Cassandra wonder. How had the Inquisitor come to trust Dorian so quickly? Perhaps he was not in the magisterium, but House Pavus was still well-respected in Tevinter, as far as she knew. It was hard to fathom that within so little time Lavellan had begun to relate to him as an ally, or even a friend.

That wasn’t to say she didn’t also like Dorian. Whatever else, he was charming in his own way, and hearing him speak ill of his countrymen certainly endeared one to him. It was merely a matter of trust.

But was she too mistrustful? The Inquisitor’s faith in her allies had done them well so far. She eyed Varric with a small amount of guilt. Maybe she was being too hard on him.

“Come on, Seeker, not even a laugh? A chuckle? A raised eyebrow?”

Then again, maybe not. “I’m afraid I wasn’t listening,” Cassandra replied calmly. “You’ll have to repeat yourself.”

“Ah, never mind. It would take too long.”

Silence fell over the group. They fought their way past a number of Freemen who had taken up camp around some old Orlesian villa, and eventually found themselves setting up an Inquisition camp far to the north.

“Cassandra, may I have a word with you in private?” the Inquisitor said, coming up to Cassandra when she’d finished speaking with the requisitions officer.

“Of course,” she said quickly.

“Walk with me for a moment.”

Cassandra followed her into the trees. Lavellan waited until they were just out of earshot of anyone from the camp, tucked away behind a bush or two and slightly out of sight, before she turned to Cassandra with a grim expression.

“I’m sorry about this, but Cassandra, this has to stop. You’re distracted, Varric’s distracted, and Dorian’s distracted for both of you. I was hoping that nice weather might lighten things up a little, but it seems to have only made things worse. I command the Inquisition now, Cassandra. Please tell me I don’t have to command you to pull yourself together over this.”

With every word, Cassandra’s heart sunk lower and lower.

“You don’t have to, Inquisitor,” she said, looking away in shame. “I’m sorry. I should not have let this get to me like it has.”

“I’m surprised. You’re usually more level-headed than this.”

“I know. That story - Varric was trying to reach out, wasn’t he?”

“I believe so, yes. I think he picked up on my intentions right away.”

“Meanwhile, I was convinced the world was out to torture me.” Cassandra sighed. “I’ll do better. I am… I am finding it hard to let go of what happened with Varric earlier. It’s a bit complicated. But none of that should matter. At the very least, out here in the field, both you and he deserve better from me.”

“I’m glad you realize that,” said Lavellan. “I need you at my side, at your best, Cassandra. But, as a friend - are you alright?”

Cassandra tried to muster up a small smile. “I haven’t been sleeping very well, Inquisitor. It’s trying my patience. That’s all.”

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“Thank you,” Cassandra said. “Didn’t you want to head back Villa Maurel and sweep the Freemen of the Dales out of it? We should get going if we want to make that happen before sundown.”

They headed back to camp shortly afterward, and Lavellan quickly began to issue orders to restock their supplies. Cassandra watched her go, frowning in thought.

“You look chewed out,” Dorian commented, sidling over with a neutral expression.

Cassandra didn’t bother moving her gaze. “Was this your doing?”

“Ah, well. Yes. The Inquisitor sold me out? Can’t say I saw that coming.”

“She didn’t say a thing about you. In fact, she took full responsibility for this little plan. I simply had a suspicion.”

“Oh.”

“Dorian, you were trying to do a nice thing. Am I wrong?” Cassandra asked.

“That was the hope.”

“Right. A word of advice: don’t do it again.”

“Wasn’t planning on it. This seems to have backfired nice and disastrously.”

“Not entirely. After all, you’ve forced me into a position where I’ve realized I should probably take my head out of my ass. I don’t believe I have been entirely at fault here, but I realize that I have been holding a grudge and he has not. He lied to me. To protect a friend, he thought. It’s hardly the worst thing anyone has ever done to me.”

“You wanted to believe him, I’m sure. It must have hurt to find out that your belief was, in any small degree, misplaced.”

“I think it was more that I wanted to be correct, truthfully. But it was probably that as well.”

“Brave of you to admit it,” Dorian replied, and Cassandra thought he meant it. “By the way, you were completely right. Varric’s novels are utter shit.”

“And?”

“I’m loving it. Do me a favor and finish _Hard in Hightown_ as soon as you’re able.”

“Good to know. I’ll try to make the time.”

Before too long they were back on the road again. Cassandra still felt tired, guilty, and frustrated, but there was something satisfying in the fact that she had finally received the kick in the pants she needed.

Varric seemed hesitant, at first. Fearing her temper, most likely. “Maybe later,” he said. “I’d rather not get the Freemen’s attention when we’re about to thoroughly storm their place.”

“Are you joking, Varric?” Dorian exclaimed. “You want to take them out without letting them know we could do it _and_ have a good time? Where’s the fun in that?”

“Inquisitor, you don’t think-”

“Varric, I’m beginning to think your stories might work as an intimidation tactic, but we’ll only find out if you’re willing to give it a shot. Come on, I’m sure you have one.”

Varric sighed. “I can’t believe I’m asking this. Seeker? I need a voice of reason here.”

Cassandra avoided looking at him, trying to keep her face straight. “It could be a valuable tactic, if used against the right enemies. The Freemen could suffice as a test run.”

“You’re shitting me. Wait - are you actually shitting me? _Are you shitting me_?”

Dorian started laughing loudly, and Lavellan wasn’t long behind, though she kept it to quieter, slightly more dignified snickers instead.

It was only by merit of her Seeker training that Cassandra avoided breaking into loud laughter as well. She made a little note to herself: clearly, one highly effective way of dealing with Varric was to take petty revenge where she could.

“Fine, fine. You’re all so demanding. How about this one? This one time, Hawke and I were tasked with finding some apostates. Very serious business, most of it, abominations and a nasty blood mage and all that fun stuff. But then we ran into this one guy...”

Varric slipped into storyteller mode with ease, and before long, Cassandra was tossing a man aside with her shield while she heard again (though with plenty of embellished details, of course) about the interesting fate of the mage Emile.

She had not forgiven him, could not, not just yet, and overall it was still a very bad day, but Cassandra had to admit at the end of it that she did like Varric’s stories. They were embellished, if not outright lied about, and they were absurd, even cliche at time, but he knew how to tell a tale, and she would get sucked into the heart of his fables every time.

-

The dream was different this time. Haunting, still, but instead of waking up shaking, she woke up still. Afraid, but not broken by it.

She remembered red. She was not bound physically this time, but she was bound to the lyrium. She could feel it inside her, sapping her mind, endowing her with fruitless strength.

Cassandra knew little else. But there was a voice, familiar to her, though layered over with an echo, like the voice of a ghost. “I’ll tell you a story,” he said softly. Amidst the fear and the corruption, the words were a balm.

She woke in the middle of the night, but as she woke, the fear was already receding.

Maker, she was tired. She didn’t even want to think about this.

Cassandra turned right over and fell back asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

She had to admit, the next morning, that the dreams were getting a bit out of hand. But this was the first time she had experienced them without also finding herself unable to get back to sleep afterward. Why _Varric’s_ voice out of anyone’s showed up in her dream to calm her, she couldn’t imagine, but if it had done the trick, then she was going to be a pragmatist about the matter and avoid complaining.

Having settled that, she began her day with a little more energy than she’d been able to muster for a while. There were men working on the reconstruction of the northern ramparts, and considering that the damage was right above her favorite little part of the courtyard, it seemed like an excellent idea to pitch in. The other responsible for helping seemed thankful for the help and the company.

By the time they were done, she was exhausted, and content. Settled, she decided she would spend the rest of the day relaxing indoors, working on whatever paperwork crossed her way and sneaking in the rest of _Hard in Hightown_ when she could spare a moment. She took the desk over the main smithy, a spot she had quietly begun to claim as her own.

Cassandra was finishing up the penultimate chapter when she heard footsteps coming up the staircase. She quietly slipped the book into an open shelf and glanced over a nearby report, pretending to take in its contents.

“Do you have a moment?” Cullen asked. He shifted on his feet. Nervous, maybe?

“Sure,” she said. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Yes, actually,” said Cullen. He leaned against a nearby pillar and crossed his arms. Cassandra didn’t think she had seen him looking more awkward in her life, and Cullen was not exactly a source of constant poise.

“What is this about?”

“You remember that talk we had back in Haven, about… lyrium?”

“Certainly,” Cassandra said. “What about it?”

“I need a favor. I need… I need you to watch me.”

Cassandra frowned and took a closer look at him. Whatever was bothering him, it weighed on him heavily. He was not only nervous, he was afraid, and it showed.

“Commander, sit down before you fall over,” she said, waving at a chair off to her side. “What’s troubling you?”

He made a sudden movement, startled and about to protest, but he thought the better of it. Sighing, he covered his face with his mouth, pulling himself together. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

Cullen took the seat and slumped into it, sighing. He looked up and met Cassandra’s eyes grimly. “You know I’m a former templar. I clearly picked the right time to leave that life. If I hadn’t… I don’t know where I’d be right now. I like to think I’d disagree with what they’re doing, but at the same time, I don’t know that I’d have a choice. Joining the Inquisition probably saved my life.”

“And… this upsets you?”

“If what’s happened to the templars has taught me anything, it’s that lyrium is… It’s a liability,” he said. “I never fully agreed with it anyway, but when I started taking it, I was still young, and maybe a little too ready to follow orders without questioning what I was told.”

“You can’t blame yourself for that,” Cassandra told him firmly.

“I don’t blame myself for that. But now I know better. I know better and I know that whatever skills I’ve picked up by taking it, they’re not worth the risk. What if a spy got in and, I don’t know, poisoned my supply with the red kind? What if our supply got cut off somehow? While I’m addicted to lyrium, I’m vulnerable.”

“Commander, you’re not saying…”

“I want to be off it. I _need_ to be off it. Red or not, lyrium is killing me. I can’t do it alone. I need somebody who will watch my back and interfere if my ability to command is at all compromised. I can’t afford to be a liability to the Inquisition, that comes first. I had hoped that I could ask someone I trust, someone who might understand.”

Cassandra was silent for a moment, taking in his words, his resolve. “You ask a lot of me,” she told him quietly. “Have you already stopped taking it?”

“No. I would want a safety net in place first.”

“As you should. You realize nobody has done this before? I’ve heard of templars trying to quit lyrium, but as far as I know, all of them either went back, or…”

“Or their faculties were damaged, or they died. Yes, I’m aware.”

“This is that important to you?”

“It is. I can’t let myself be like that. If I can be better, if I can be more, and if I can do it for the Inquisition, then it’s worth a try. You can’t know what it’s like, Cassandra. When I’ve just taken it, I feel fine, maybe even incredible, but when I haven’t, it...”

“You don’t need to tell me,” she said grimly.

“If you don’t mind, I want to tell you. I want you to know what to expect.” He waited until she gave him a quick nod. “It wasn’t as bad when I was younger, I think. It only started happening later. It used to be that I just took lyrium as I was told. I didn’t really think about. Then you start getting older and you’re in charge of yourself, but by that time, it’s too late. I wouldn’t think about lyrium for a while, and then suddenly it would be a day later and I would start to feel weak. One time I was - I was deprived of it, for a while. I was paranoid and angry. I craved lyrium. I was embarrassed by how badly. And without it, it felt like a layer of fire was burning, just beneath my skin.”

Cassandra sighed. “I see. Do you intend to tell anybody else about this, Cullen?”

“Maybe. I know I want you on my side. You’re more fit than anyone else to know whether or not I’m commanding the way I should be. I was thinking of telling at least one other person, someone who might be willing to support me in a different way. Not sure who just yet. Mostly, though, I want it secret. I don’t want to worry any troops by letting them know what I’ll be going through, or leave an opening for the Inquisition’s enemies to question my fitness. Nor do I want to give other templars any kind of… false hope.”

He’d thought this through, and it showed. His reasoning was as sound as it could possibly be, under the circumstances. It was risky, but the reward, if he succeeded, would be a way forward for him and many, many others.

“I will help you.”

The hope in his face was so raw it was painful. “You will?”

“Absolutely,” she said. “I questioned you only because I wanted to be sure you knew what you were getting into. I understand completely, and it sounds like you are taking the precautions your responsibilities demand. I will support you to the best of my ability.”

“Thank you, Cassandra,” he said with clear relief. “I’ll owe you for this.”

“You owe me nothing,” she said firmly. “If I’m not mistaken, you would do the same for me, and that is more than enough.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m not grateful,” he said, smiling. “Really. Thank you.”

Cassandra smiled back. “Shoo. Get out before this gets sappier than I think either of us want. I’ll drop by on you from time to time, but if you need me, I’m sure I’ll be around.”

Cullen hauled himself out of the chair. “Good to know. Later, then.”

“See you later.”

She returned to looking at nearby reports. He went down the steps, and then, out of view, she heard the little “clunk” as the door swung shut behind him.

Hopefully, this wouldn’t come back to bite either of them. If everything worked out, it would be a great triumph. Against what, she wasn’t precisely sure, but she was hopeful. Cullen was a strong man. He seemed as likely as anyone to succeed.

With a slightly worried sigh, Cassandra pulled _Hard in Hightown_ out again. She intended to finish it tonight, as Dorian was apparently a very speedy reader, and expected to wrap up his very first Varric novel very soon.

-

Though it turned out Dorian hadn’t even been able to finish _The Mage of the Anderfels_. “How am I supposed to be invested in the protagonist,” he protested, “when the evil apostate witch is so _clearly_ the more interesting character? All Drew ever does is maintain the status quo. Then the whole brother plotline started to show up towards the end and I lost all interest.”

“You should have tried to stick it out,” Cassandra chastised. “The brother plotline is worth it for the ending.”

“What could possibly -”

“Annabeth the Wicked kills Drew and sets all of Ostwick on fire.”

Dorian stopped, speechless, and started to grin. “You’re right. That _is_ good. I think I’ll just settle for knowing it happens, though. Please tell me _Hard in Hightown_ is better.”

“Only just,” she told him, handing the book over with a shake of her head. “I threw the book against the wall on chapter three, but it’s been good since.”

“Great. You haven’t read the sequel, right?”

“No, I have not.”

“Would you mind reading something else then? If I can actually get through _Hard in Hightown_ I think it’d be fun to try and predict what happens with you. We could place bets. Or gripe about it. Or something.”

That was why she was rereading _Swords & Shields_ instead. It was a beautiful day outside, and she had slept well. It would be a crime not to take advantage of the weather, right?

-

If word spread past the Inquisitor that she had read most of Varric’s books, she would never live it down.

-

The Inquisitor ran off to Crestwood in search of Hawke’s warden friend with Dorian in tow, so sadly, yelling at Dorian over the way he betrayed her confidences would have to wait. She’d read the last chapter of _Swords & Shields _over again, but the next chapter still didn’t exist. If she was truthful with herself, she was beginning to wonder about it. Varric usually didn’t take so much time between chapters of his novels. Perhaps it would be better to set it aside and find something else to do.

Spurred forth by optimism, she decided to peek in on some of their allies around Skyhold.

She stopped by the bar first. She had not yet found a chance to give it a proper look. It was a comfortable place. While not her personal first choice for places to relax with friends, she could certainly picture herself having a good time here, under the right circumstances.

The Iron Bull had made quick work of moving in. He was relaxing cheerfully in a seat on the north side of the bar, a bottle of who-knows-what at his side. He made the chair he’d taken look positively tiny. It was a comical picture, in some ways, but Cassandra gave it a bit more thought, and realized that the Iron Bull was a genius.

Krem had taken a chair far to the Bull’s left, and though he seemed to be innocuously cheering on Maryden’s singing, he was also keeping a sharp eye on the bar’s main entrance. On the Bull’s right, the barkeep would surely catch any trouble before anything approached. The Iron Bull himself would have plenty of advance warning if somebody unwelcome tried to come down the stairs. He could undoubtedly skewer them before they presented a threat. She wondered how many people would pick up on the Bull’s tactical positioning. The way he lounged, he hardly looked like he was giving any thought to the matter of safety at all.

She gave the Iron Bull a wave as she passed him. He winked at her - maybe he had seen that she had noticed his little set-up. Shaking her head in amusement, she climbed the stairs.

Sera had already begun decorating a room of her own. Although she wasn’t currently around, the colorful view from the open door told her everything Cassandra wanted to know.

There was nothing to see in the attic, but it was nice and quiet up there, with just Maryden’s faint melody floating up from below.

Cassandra left through the door to the ramparts. She stopped by Cullen’s new office, poking her head in only briefly.

“How are you doing?” she asked him.

“Well enough,” he said, shrugging. “As of right now, I’m sixteen or so hours free, and feeling alright.”

“Glad to hear it,” Cassandra said with a smile she hoped was encouraging. “I’ll leave you to your work.”

Cullen merely mumbled, already leaning back over it.

Her wanderings took her down to the stables, where she checked in on Dennet, who told her that Blackwall had assumed residence inside. Apparently, he had asked Dennet if he could take possession of a small table, to use for his carving hobby. A Warden who carved. Who knew?

Solas greeted her with his usual half-caution that she intended to kick him out of Skyhold. She reassured him otherwise, reminded him that if even she were so inclined, the power was now well out of her hands, and in the Inquisitor’s. Solas remained unconvinced, but Cassandra ignored him and admired the murals he had begun painting on the wall. Apparently, Blackwall wasn’t the only surprise artist around.

Leliana seemed busy, so Cassandra did not linger long at her side. Leliana assured Cassandra that she was well, and promised to make the time to sit down and relax with her later in the week. Cassandra made a note to herself to be sure of it. Leliana’s definition of “well” and her own did not always quite match.

She found Vivienne on the balcony over Skyhold’s main hall. Vivienne had already started moving in Orlesian furniture that was at complete odds with Skyhold’s stony, haphazard construction. Yet, somehow, the woman made it look good. Fancy and frivolous in exactly the way Cassandra personally despised, but beyond her own personal opinions of such things, it was definitely good.

“Cassandra, come, help me out,” Vivienne called out. Cassandra hadn’t even realized she’d been noticed. She walked over, and Vivienne showed her a couple pieces of fabric. “Help me choose a color for the carpet, dear. I like the softness of the slate, but the blue is _such_ a bright, lovely color.”

Suppressing a sigh, Cassandra indulged her. “Go for the blue. Boldness becomes you.”

“An excellent point. Thank you, Cassandra, your opinion is invaluable.”

“Are you still so set on swaying me to playing the Game? It will not happen.”

“That remains to be seen,” Vivienne teased. She went to speak with one of the men attending on her over the matters of decorations. Amused, Cassandra left her. Vivienne was clearly in her element, and she had no intentions of stopping her. She did briefly wonder who had authorized Vivienne to do all this, however.

With Dorian, Sera, and Blackwall out with the Inquisitor and Hawke, that just about wrapped up her little excursion. The only person remaining was Josephine. Cassandra was tempted, just for a moment, to skip Josephine, but she kicked herself for the thought. Avoiding Varric? She was better than that. With a sigh, she left Vivienne’s balcony and headed down the stairs. Trying to be subtle, she poked her head around the door downstairs.

Whatever Varric was doing, or writing, it had him thoroughly engrossed. His head was bent over the desk by the fireplace and even from here she could tell that nothing short of Corypheus personally knocking on the front gate would garner his attention.

She breathed a tiny sigh of relief and walked over to Josephine’s office quickly, undisturbed.

“Cassandra! To what do I owe the pleasure?” Josephine asked, setting aside some letters. “Do you need me for anything?”

“No, not at all. I was just looking around, saying hello to everyone and checking in.”

“Glad to hear it,” Josephine said, smiling. “If you have the time, I have the time. Would you like to sit down for a moment and chat with me? I keep staring a hole in Lord Duforet’s letter as though the contents of it are going to change. It can’t be any good for me.”

“I don’t remember Lord Duforet,” Cassandra said. She stole one of Josephine’s cozy seats by the fire. It amused Cassandra to remember that Josephine had been all set up with her office and her comfortable little atmosphere even before Vivienne.

Josephine laughed, rising to her feet to take the other seat beside her. “You wouldn’t know him. He is a slightly disgraced former member of the League of Celestine, kicked out for inadvisable conduct while inebriated. He’s held a grudge against the world since, and decided to take it out on the Inquisition by denying a request. It is not important, but it _is_ annoying, and I haven’t yet thought of a way to fix it.”

“Just be sure to let me know if there’s anything I can do. You know I don’t complain at any opportunity to scare the pants off those uppity types.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary in this instance, but thank you. Though – pants off. Hmm. That’s an idea. Remind me later to have a little talk with Sera.”

“Josephine, please tell me you don’t intend to take diplomatic advice from her.”

“Diplomatic? No, never! However, she may be suited to a little advice of a different sort, such as how to best embarrass a man who has already been caught with his pants down once before.”

“I really can’t disagree.” Cassandra smiled.

“You look a little tired, is everything alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine. A little trouble sleeping lately, but nothing more.”

Josephine made a sympathetic sound. “I understand. I haven’t been as well rested as I would like to be since Haven, myself. ”

“Since before Haven, actually,” said Cassandra.

“Truly? Since when, then?”

“Just in the week before,” Cassandra confessed. “I think it must have been after I heard Lavellan tell her story, when we got back from taking down Alexius. I started dreaming of red lyrium somehow… getting to me. Almost as if it were a premonition of what happened to the templars.”

Josephine looked at the fire, shuddering. “That sounds _horrible_. My own dreams have been… standard fare. Those who died at Haven. The avalanche. That sort of thing. By comparison, they sound so small.”

“That doesn’t make them any less terrible to dream of, I’m sure.”

“No, not particularly. Still, I don’t envy you.” Josephine shook her head, as if shooing away the melancholy. She smiled slightly at Cassandra and asked her, “Do you have trouble getting back to sleep?”

“Sometimes,” Cassandra replied, preferring not to think about the recent exception.

“I told Leliana a little while ago about my nightmares, and she suggested this tea, a sort of minty chamomile, for if I woke up in the middle of the night and could not get back to sleep. It’s been helping, a little. I could share it with you, if you’re interested.”

“I would be very grateful,” Cassandra said. “That sounds like it could certainly help.”

“I’ll arrange for some to be sent to you later.”

“You are a lifesaver, Josephine.”

“You are sweet to say so,” Josephine said.

They made small chat for a little while after. Josephine was surprised that Cassandra had apparently been starting to get along better with Dorian. To be fair, so was she. Cassandra asked after her work, and Josephine spent a little while recounting some of her recent frustrations in remarkable detail.

Their conversation wound to a close, and Cassandra suddenly found herself exhausted, and words escaped her. “This has been, um, nice, Josephine,” she stammered. “I don’t mean to slight you, I just…”

“Ran out of the energy to be social?” Josephine guessed.

With a bleak smile, Cassandra nodded.

“I’m not offended at all. Go rest. Read a book, take a nice bath, stab a straw-filled man.”

“Those are good suggestions. I will see you later, Josephine?”

“You certainly will.”

-

The Inquisitor returned from Crestwood within a few days, looking somewhat soaked to the bone but otherwise content. When she saw Cassandra from afar, she nodded to her in greeting, with a glint of mischief in her eyes which did not bode well.

Cassandra was determined to put it out of her mind. Whatever it was the Inquisitor was up to, she was quite certain she didn’t want to know.

Things were quiet, for a while. Cassandra’s dreams were still covered in red lyrium. Sometimes, she was strapped down, feeling it coursing through her system and searing her away. Another time, she was locked in a cell, and she looked at her hands, and saw red. Truth be told, the color felt more imprisoning than the bars.

Still, things were nice. Pleasant. She carried out her duties, checked in on Cullen, and asked Dorian what he thought of Brennokovich so far.

Then, the ball finally dropped.

Lavellan and Varric approached her around midday, both with carefully neutral expressions on their face.

“What have you done now?” Cassandra asked cautiously.

“I get it, Seeker,” Varric said, leaning back. “You’re still sore after our spat.”

Honestly, she mostly wasn’t by now. Did he think so little of her? “I am not a child, Varric,” she informed him. “Do not suggest I am without reason.”

“A peace offering: the next chapter of _Swords & Shields_. I hear you’re a fan.”

He held out the book and Cassandra’s heart plummeted into her stomach. He knew. Varric would _never_ let this go. Lavellan - Lavellan had _told_ him.

She turned to the Inquisitor. “This is _your_ doing,” she accused.

“I was hoping you’d be happy about it,” Lavellan replied, though she did so with the smallest of betraying smiles.

Varric interrupted. “Well, if you’re not interested, you’re not interested. Still needs editing, anyhow,” he said, starting to walk away.

Damn him. “Wait!” she shouted.

Varric turned back with a smile. “You’re probably wondering what happens to the knight-captain after the last chapter.”

He wouldn’t _dare_ , would he? “Nothing should happen to her - she was falsely accused!”

“Well, it turns out the guardsman -”

“Don’t _tell_ me!” Cassandra shouted at him. Damn him, damn him, damn him. Sorry, Maker. _Damn_ him. She grabbed the book out of his hands - he was playing her like a harp, holding it out like some kind of forbidden treat.

Varric cleared his throat. “This is the part where you thank the Inquisitor,” he told her. “I don’t normally give sneak peeks, after all.”

She really only half-heard him, turning away and thumbing open the first page. The words were crisp and very freshly inked: _There was a crash as the door fell open and Guardsman Derrick stormed into the room, shouting, “She didn’t do it! She didn’t do it! I have proof!”_

Cassandra couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. It was _right_. It was truly the last chapter of _Swords & Shields_. If Derrick’s proof was good, the knight-captain would be okay. She’d half expected it to be a fake, a mean trick to make her look foolish for caring about these sort of books. But this was the real deal.

Her heart lightened a little. She turned back to the Inquisitor. “I… thank you,” she said, because she could not find better words.

“Varric’s the one you should be thanking,” she said, even though Varric had put it the other way around. What a pair they made.

“I am but a humble servant to my loyal readers,” Varric said with a smile and a bow.

“I wonder if I have time to read the first part?” Cassandra mused out loud. She had reports to fill out and letters to reply to, and she had promised Blackwall they would do a bit of sparring today, but perhaps she could at least read a little, just up until she had seen the evidence that the guardsman had brought…

Varric walked away. She thought she heard him mutter, “Completely worth it.” She wasn’t entirely certain what to make of that. The Inquisitor left as well, wisely - Cassandra was already sitting down again, and she couldn’t be bothered to correct the smile which had at some point bloomed on her face.


	3. Chapter 3

_Finally happy in her guardsman’s arms, she let out a long sigh. Her streets were safe, and though there was more work to be done, the danger had passed. The grass under her feet wavered in the wind, and she could smell the scent of the flowers blooming on the hillside. She kissed Derrick’s chin, and let herself rest._

Warmth bubbled through Cassandra’s heart. All she had wanted was for the knight-captain to find happiness, and she had definitely found it. It was cheesy, it was terrible, but it was exactly what she had wanted.

She lingered on the last page for a moment, and then slid the book shut with a contented sigh.

Cassandra had spent just about every free moment reading it. Now, she owed the Inquisitor. And Varric as well. Perhaps… no, especially Varric. It was no fault of his own that she had avoided him for such a long time, it had been her pride getting in the way. At the very least, she needed to give him a proper thanks, and perhaps a proper apology, as well.

It was just that dealing with Varric was always two steps forward, one step back. Or perhaps one step forward, two steps back. Cassandra wasn’t sure which. No matter how hard she tried she could not get it right.

She thought he was a liar and a charlatan, and he turns out to be a liar, but perhaps not a charlatan. A storyteller with no heart, she’d assumed, and yet with a soft spot for a self-proclaimed spirit in the form of a youth. He seemed to live to annoy her with every word, yet, here he had gone and filled pages, all for her. Or for his amusement, perhaps. But then, why did he finish the chapter so genuinely? For the sake of the story? For her, truly meant as the “peace offering” he had presented it as? In her eyes, either answer gave him credit.

Why did she even bother? Why did it matter that she was able to get along with Varric? It was personal for her, or she wouldn’t have reacted so strongly to the events of previous days.

Perhaps it was tied to his books. Yes, that was certainly part of it. In his books, she read fantastic tales of characters who had been crafted with a great deal of care. The content was cheesy, but it had heart in spades, and for her at least, that more than made up for whatever else might make the story… subpar.

She believed that there was more to Varric. She believed that he was capable of more than what he appeared to be. All he ever did was get on her bad side, joke around, dance on the seedy side of life. He could be more. He _was_ more. He wrote with care. He protected his friends. On occasion, apparently, he assisted in minor acts of saving the world.

It frustrated her, deeply, completely, that he could well be one of the kindest people she had ever met, and he never seemed to show it. That was the crux of her annoyance with him, in the end.

Cassandra sat back, stretching her legs, and looked out the window. Judging by the light through the smithy, it was still morning. She thought she knew what she needed to say. With any luck, Varric would be up now, probably already at his favorite spot by the…

Oh. When he had been working so intently the other day, it had been because he was working on _Swords & Shields_. Maker, she was a fool.

With that thought, Cassandra levered herself to her feet. She carefully tucked _Swords & Shields _into a drawer half-full of books, collected herself, and began walking towards Skyhold’s main hall.

As was becoming usual, it was full of activity. The walls were slowly becoming more decorated, and so too were the noble guests who roamed Skyhold. She beelined it for Varric, glad for once that his little post was so near the entrance to the hall.

He was leaning against the wall, reading a letter or something with a slight frown. He spotted her before she could say anything. “Seeker!” he said brightly, lowering the letter in his hands. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“May we speak in private?” Cassandra asked.

“How forward of you,” Varric commented. “Sure thing. How private are we talking? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but most places around here tend to get a little busy.”

Cassandra held back a sigh. Varric was very, very good at irritating her. “I just don’t want to be heard in case this turns into a longer conversation.”

“Not official business? No sudden emergency?”

“No.”

“Then I know just the place. You know that dusty, unused storage room beyond the garden? How’s that sound?”

“I don’t think I know that one, actually.”

“That’s because nobody’s using it,” said Varric. “Hopefully. Come on, it’s right this way.”

She followed him off to the opposite door. “Towards the garden? Goodness, I could not have guessed,” Cassandra muttered, a little amused.

“Didn’t mean to insult your fine intelligence, Seeker,” Varric said, very casually.

“I wasn’t - never mind.” Oh, Andraste, this was going sour already.

“Anyway, yeah, there’s a few boxes in there, maybe spare decorations or something? I know the Inquisitor’s had people bringing décor from every corner of Thedas; it has to go somewhere…”

“And here I thought half of it went to Sera’s room,” Cassandra joked, hoping the right tone would actually come across this time.

Varric made a surprised little laugh and looked back at her. “Huh! The Seeker has a sense of humor! You’re absolutely right. I guarantee she’s already stolen at least one, maybe two Ferelden banners and stuffed them somewhere in there. Buttercup sure loves her colors.”

They passed the gazebo on the west side of the garden and slipped into a room which, true to Varric’s assumptions, Cassandra had never even noticed. It was a quiet room, with a few boxes here and there, lit fairly well by a large window in the back.

“Private enough for you, Seeker?”

“Yes,” she said, suddenly struggling for words. She turned around to face Varric.

“So. What’s going on?” Varric asked, frowning a little.

“I…” Cassandra avoided looking at him for a moment, pulling herself together. With a bit of effort, she forced herself to meet his eyes. “I need to tell you thank you, Varric.”

“For what? Oh, _Swords & Shields_?” Varric laughed. “Andraste’s - Andraste’s left ear, I’d thought you were going to say something terrible! Honestly. You don’t need to thank me. The look on your face was reward enough, I promise.”

“No, that’s not good enough,” Cassandra said.

“ _What_?”

“I - you - ugh. It’s… Do you know how many people would take advantage of that, Varric?” Cassandra exclaimed. “You know who I am and you know what I am like. If it isn’t related to my faith or my sword, I’m usually not very interested. You were dangling the next chapter in my face and I was certain, so certain, that you were going to be lying to me. But you were not. You can say it was just for a laugh at my expense, but you still put in the time and the work to make that last chapter. You didn’t have to.” Cassandra let out a deep sigh. “The Inquisitor was completely correct. I owe you my sincere thanks. I enjoyed every bit of that last chapter.”

“Oh.”

“And I also owe you an apology. I have treated you like a prisoner, then like you were worth very little, and then like you were a callous liar. I knew you care about your friends, I should have known you would protect Hawke. Perhaps you were right to do so. Then you made a peace offering in good faith and I took it to be a cruel prank. I have belittled you in ways you do not deserve. I’m sorry, Varric. You are undoubtedly the most frustrating person I have ever met, I will say that, but you are still deserving of my respect.”

When she was done, Varric stared at her for a long moment, long enough that she shifted in discomfort. He slowly nodded, and then backed up. He sat down on a box, looked at her, and said, “Thank you.”

“...What? That’s it?”

“Not completely,” he admitted, “but after that little speech, most of the things I could say would just sound trite. Gimme a moment.”

Perplexed, Cassandra found a box of her own to sit on across from him. She was starting to worry she’d said something wrong, but thankfully, Varric was as quick on his feet as ever, and spoke up before too long.

“Hawke… I’d say Hawke is my best friend, but I don’t know if that does it justice. If I’m bread, she’s the butter. Can I get by without her? Sure. But why would I want to? There’s a lot of things I’d do to protect her. She’d say she doesn’t need protecting, I’m sure, and to an extent, that’s true. She could kick my ass any day. But the thing is, Hawke’s a hero. The perfect formula. The mixture of all the right things. If she’d been invited to the Inquisition early on, I have no doubt she’d be right here on the front lines, doing her damnedest to win us this blighted war. But it wouldn’t be good for her, and I don’t think it would have ended well for anyone.”

“You don’t need to explain to me why you lied, Varric,” Cassandra interjected. “I understand.”

“No, no, hold on, I’m leading up to something here. I’m just not doing a good job of it.”

“Very well.”

Varric scratched the back of his head. “Look, Seeker. Where we are now? With our Inquisitor, our Herald of Andraste, and Lavellan, and her Anchor? I think this is right. This is the way it’s meant to be. I don’t regret lying to you and I can’t really apologize for that. I can’t help but believe that I did the right thing, that we’re on the right path, and I won’t insult you by saying otherwise. But I am sorry about… I don’t know. A lot of things. Too many to list, probably. Bottom line? I’ve grown to like you, Seeker. We got off on the wrong foot. Interrogations will do that to you, I guess. I’m not sorry for lying to you, but I definitely contributed to all this mess between us, and that, I’m sorry about. So… I’m sorry.”

It was an easy apology for Cassandra to accept. It was genuine and honest, and hearing that he had grown to like her was a balm, in a way. It contextualized some of his recent teasing as mere teasing, not genuine dislike, and she had somewhat wondered.

“Thank you, Varric.” She crossed her legs, thinking. Something in his little speech had caught her attention, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to ask about it.

“Just ask already.”

“How did - never mind,” she said. “It’s… You needn’t answer. But the way you spoke of the Inquisitor just now… It sounded like you believe she truly is the Herald of Andraste.”

“Ah,” Varric said with a little frown. “Well… Hmm.”

“You _told_ me to ask.”

“I did, I know. You want the truth? Right, bad question. It’s… complicated. You know how I am about stories. Andraste’s is the best there is. A woman escapes from slavery and raises an army of faithful followers to drive the evil from the world, a woman so holy and pure her spirit is wedded to the Maker himself. It’s a story of redemption and the underdog and betrayal and changing the world. How could I not love it?”

“Liking a story doesn’t mean you have to believe,” said Cassandra.

“I guess not. But…” Varric’s mouth twisted into a half-smile. “I want to. I think Andraste must have been amazing. The kind of woman maybe I _could_ imagine was… more. But there’s parts I… parts I might believe and then there’s parts that make things complicated. Some of the Chant of Light. The utter condemnation of mages. The Maker? I… waffle a bit on that one. Not if he’s the Maker the Chantry preaches. But maybe there’s a Maker who delivered Lavellan to us, who ensured that she survived at Haven, who... ” Varric coughed slightly. “I think you get the picture.”

“And so, against all the odds, reluctantly, Varric Tethras turns out to be Andrastian,” said Cassandra. She crossed her arms. “I would never have guessed.”

“Well, the longest I’ve ever been in a Chantry was the time I fought off a Qunari attack with Hawke, so that’s not much of a surprise.”

“Never? Are they so repugnant to you?”

“The Chantry tends to preach only to humans. It also likes to condemn mages and then turn around and act like they’re doing mages a favor for it, too. Which isn’t to say that mages don’t have their own shit going on, but... All I’m saying is that I’ve never felt welcome there.”

Cassandra sighed. “That’s wrong.”

Varric growled, “Hey _,_ just because you’re the Chantry’s favorite - ”

“Not you, them. The Chantry.” Cassandra shook her head. “I’m sitting here hearing the words of a man who desperately wants to be faithful, but the words of the Chantry are getting in the way, barring him entrance rather than welcoming him with open arms. It shouldn’t be like that.”

“Oh.” Varric backed off, a little sheepish. “I jumped down your throat a bit too soon, didn’t I?”

“Possibly,” Cassandra said, smiling. “I am loyal to the Chantry, but I am also a Seeker, Varric. I prefer to think I am not completely blind to its faults.”

“No, I guess you’re not. What about you, Seeker? What do you believe? Not about the Maker or Andraste, I mean. The Herald. Our Inquisitor. Lavellan.”

“How could I not?” said Cassandra. “That she is an elf gave me pause at first, but it shouldn’t have. Lavellan is forging a new world, a new path for all Thedas, for the Chantry. I don’t think she even realizes it herself, not yet. Sometimes I have my doubts, but more often, I feel that the Maker has been with her every step of the way.”

“She’s a bit of a miracle, isn’t she?”

“I hadn’t thought of it in quite those terms, but yes. She is.”

“Lucky her.” Varric slipped off the box he was sitting on. “I think there’s a few things I ought to be doing right now. Thanks for the chat, Seeker. It’s been… enlightening.”

“For both of us, I think,” Cassandra said, rising to her feet as well. “I’ll see you around, Varric. And thank you, again, for finishing _Swords & Shields._”

“Don’t mention it. Really, don’t. Dorian’s giving me shit,” Varric said. With a quick grin, he slipped out of the door.

Cassandra considered visiting the library, but thought the better of it. Poking one potential hornet’s nest was enough for one day.

-

She could feel it taking root in her. It wanted her. Some small part of her, she was beginning to realize with utter horror, had begun to want it back.

On the inside, she was angry, awake, fighting, but she knew not what to fight. There was nowhere for the anger to go. It festered inside her. All her Seeker training called for her to resist that anger, to cage it before it could get away from her, and so she fought herself, torn by calm and rage.

On the outside, she could feel little. Some part of her could smell the musk of the dungeon, feel the cold air and the colder stone beneath her, but none of it mattered. Just beneath the top of her skin she was burning. Literally? She wasn’t sure.

“It _hurts_ ,” she hissed through clenched teeth. She took in a breath as slowly as she could manage, but it came to her halting, interrupted.

“I know,” said Varric.

“It’s killing me.”

“I -” Varric’s voice broke off, and Cassandra’s heart went out to him. “Seeker… I… I’m sorry.”

“None of this is your fault,” she fought to say.

“I know,” he repeated. There was silence, filled with pain. Finally, Varric broke it. “I’ll tell you a story,” he said softly. “Got any requests?”

“Something romantic,” she said. “Or maybe something funny.”

“There you go, underestimating my abilities,” said Varric, chuckling quietly. “I can do better than that. I’ll give you both.”

Cassandra laughed a little, relaxing as much as she could. “I had hoped you would say that.”

“I never told you how Aveline proposed to Donnic, did I?”

“ _She_ proposed? I thought she was very traditional in matters like that.”

“Usually, yes, but you’re forgetting that this is Aveline, romantic disaster extraordinaire. I’ll give her this at least: she didn’t propose to him in the middle of a guard route. They’d been dating for about a year when Aveline realized suddenly that she wanted to marry the guy. So naturally, who does she go to to think about this? Hawke. And you know how Hawke reacts? Bless her heart, Aveline tells her she wants to get married, and Hawke doesn’t think twice before saying, ‘Maker’s breath, why would you want to do that?’ Aveline nearly socked her for that one...”

Cassandra floated on his words, hovering, just for a little while, loftily above the pain and the battle being waged in her being. She imagined Aveline, angry and yelling at Hawke, and Hawke laughing, and let the rest drift away.

She woke up.

-

At just past dawn Cassandra strode into Solas’ mural room with a grim expression. Solas was an early riser, and was already up, reading something in the chair by his table.

“I need to speak with you,” Cassandra said.

Solas looked up with surprise. “Good morning, Seeker Pentaghast,” he said. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes. I need answers about the Fade. Will you please walk with me for a moment?”

“If you insist.” Solas quickly marked his place in his book with a scrap of paper, and set it down. He stood up and gestured for her to lead the way.

They went out to the section of the wall which overlooked both the central and southern courtyards of Skyhold. Once out there, Cassandra leaned against the wall, staring down.

“What’s this about?”

“Dreams,” said Cassandra. “Strange, impossible dreams.”

“Impossible dreams?” Solas leaned against the wall as well. “Explain.”

“When one sleeps, one goes to the Fade, correct?”

“Yes, though only mages are capable of doing so consciously, as I’m sure you already know.”

“Right. And while in the Fade, the Fade reacts to a dreamer. Sometimes it brings good dreams based on how they are thinking or feeling. Other times, it conjures up a dreamer’s fears and torments them. ”

“All correct. Are you saying you’re having nightmares?”

“If they were ordinary nightmares, I would deal with them as I have always done. They are not.” Cassandra frowned. “Cullen once described to me what it was like for him to crave lyrium after he had not had it for a while. He said it was like a layer of fire was burning just beneath the surface of his skin. Last night, I dreamed of red lyrium. There were differences, but they were differences I would attribute to the circumstances. I felt what Cullen described, without fault, in great detail.” Cassandra looked at her hand. “It’s very vivid. More vivid than should be possible.”

“What are you saying? You must have some kind of suspicion.”

“Either my imagination and my connection to the Fade have suddenly gotten far stronger, or somehow, what I am dreaming is a real experience. I have been having similar dreams ever since we returned from Castle Redcliffe.” She looked at Solas dead-on. “Is it possible that somehow, that future which Lavellan saw still exists?”

“Hmm.” Solas crossed his arms thoughtfully. “That’s… interesting. To my knowledge, nothing like that has ever happened before. It’s true that traumatic experiences can make it easier for demons to find and torment a non-magical dreamer in the Fade, but you’re saying this goes beyond that?”

“It felt more like a half-forgotten memory than some sort of experience conjured up by my fears,” Cassandra said. “At first, they were vague, so I thought little of it. But the dreams are becoming more complex. They can’t be normal.”

“So you wonder if it’s possible that the time magic is still in effect, somehow?”

“Or something like that. I’m not sure. All I know is that more and more it seems like my dreams are not dreams but memories, torn straight out of the horrible future Lavellan described.”

Solas nodded slowly. “To my knowledge, an rupture of time on this scale has never happened before, or at least, not for thousands of years,” he said. “Where time magic has been toyed with before, it has either failed horribly or else its effects were contained within a single timeline. Things were sped up or slowed down, but nobody has ever _unwound_ time before.”

“Then the effects of unwinding time are unknown?”

“Yes and no. Evidence points to the idea that there _are_ no effects. Since Redcliffe, we haven’t seen a single disruption of the flow of time. It all appears to have been fixed. I would conclude that here, in the world, everything is as it should be.”

“And not in the Fade?”

“I had assumed things in the Fade were fine as well, but perhaps that assumption was... premature. As I’ve already mentioned, the trauma people experience interacts strangely with the Fade. From what Lavellan described, it sounds like in that future, there wouldn’t be a single soul alive that hadn’t experienced some form of trauma. That entire future may have been one massive, traumatic event. I wonder...”

“What?”

“Imagine that that future was a wound in time, or in the Fade,” Solas posited. “Alexius tore into time and fiddled with it. Then, the world plunged into darkness, slowly, let’s say, poisoning the Fade. Finally, Lavellan showed up and drew the poison out, fixed time, and put everything back to normal. The world feels nothing. But in the Fade… It’s possible that this future left behind a scar.”

“A scar?”

“A scar. A footprint. A shadow. A memory of what had once been. Not enough of a mark to affect most people, but _you_ are not most people. You were with Lavellan, and moreover, you were infected with red lyrium. We still don't understand its composition, but we know it is powerful. Maybe powerful enough that your experiences in that timeline linger in the Fade stronger than any other's."

"Varric was... _infected_ by red lyrium as well, in that future."

"But, he's a dwarf. Varric pointed out to me the other day that red lyrium still affects dwarves, which I am at a loss to explain. His experiences may also be written into the Fade as a result, or they may not. I don't know. But unlike you, Varric has no present connection to the Fade. So, either way, he remains unaffected."

"At least no one else will suffer through this, then," Cassandra said with a sigh of relief.

"Do the effects linger? Do you still feel the red lyrium when you wake up?"

"No, thank Andraste," she said. "The recollection is haunting, but there is no addiction or infection."

"Then... I don't wish to be callous, but there may be a practical benefit to this," Solas said. "Assuming any of this wild conjecture is accurate, of course."

"Practicality would be preferable to sympathy at the moment. What is it?"

"If what you dream is accurate to the experience of an encounter with red lyrium, then you'll be the only individual in the world to know what taking red lyrium is like without having any kind of addiction to it. We could learn about red lyrium from you. Perhaps even find some kind of measure to counter it."

Cassandra thought about it with a small frown. "I don't know how well that would work. So far, it just seems like it is a standard lyrium addiction. But stronger. More - I can't think of another word for it - alive. Coercive. But the problem is that it was challenging my Seeker training. Part of Seeker training involves handling emotions in certain ways. My experience with the red lyrium may be compromised because of that. Red lyrium seems to be very based in strong emotions of anger and hate, in addition to... some desire."

"That alone is already more than we knew for certain. I'll tell Lavellan -"

"Wait." Cassandra put a hand on his arm, pleading. "Please... Don't."

Solas frowned, surprised. "You would rather I lied to her?"

"No. If she asks, tell her. But if she does not, please, leave it out. These dreams are troublesome, but nothing serious at this point. If the Inquisitor knew, she would only feel guilty for taking me there. She does not need that weight on her mind. We can use this information without necessarily disclosing its source."

Solas nodded slowly. "I understand. But if she finds out, I won't be taking the fall for you."

Cassandra sighed. "I can live with that."

"Are you well, Cassandra?"

"The dreams steal my sleep, but I will be fine," she said. "Last night was better than most."

"If they worsen, please tell me. Otherwise, if you need a friendly ear, I would be willing to listen. Not solely for academic reasons, either."

Cassandra gave him a wry smile. "If that's a roundabout way of saying you care about my well-being, then thank you, Solas."

Solas gave her a rare smile in return. "You're very welcome."

"I'll leave you to your reading, then. I'm sure you must be busy."

"Not really. If you have any spare time, would you be interested in a match of chess?"

"Chess? I haven't played in years. And I'm terrible," she added, shaking her head. But she smiled. Solas seemed to have finally figured out that she enjoyed his company. "Do you know where we can find a board?"


	4. Chapter 4

She and Solas never did finish that chess game, as they found themselves pulled away to business in a while, but it didn’t matter very much. They both knew Cassandra had been losing, and badly. She later remarked to Solas that he needed to find a worthy opponent somewhere in Skyhold, and he agreed. It was an ongoing mission of his, apparently, and so far he had crossed her, Cullen, and Josephine off the potential list.

“Try Varric,” she suggested, taking care not to surprise herself too much.

“Varric? I would think his expertise would lie in card games, not something so high-brow as chess.”

“He might surprise you,” Cassandra said, “and if he doesn’t, then it should at least be good for some entertainment.”

“You’ve got me there.”

The Inquisitor was preparing for a trip to the Western Approach to investigate Warden activity. She hadn’t yet decided on a team, but Cassandra acted under the assumption that she would be coming along. Hawke’s information had suggested that Wardens might be susceptible to some kind of threat, which counted Blackwall out, and the Iron Bull tended to work better in situations which required more power than finesse. For this mission, Cassandra was likely the best fit. As a result, Cassandra had a busy day.

Matters finally began to wind down in the evening, but before she had a chance to breathe, there was a knock on her “door,” or really, the pillar that served as a good place for people ascending the stairs in the smithy to knock.

It was Leliana, with her hood down for a change. There was a cheerful smile on her lips that had been absent for weeks. “Cassandra? How are you?”

“You look happy. Is something going on?”

“I’ve come with a little invitation. Josie and I decided it might be fun to hold a little impromptu girls’ night. I know it’s short notice…”

“A girls’ night? Like what?”

“Some snacks, some optional drinks. You, me, Josie, Sera, Vivienne, and of course, our lovely Inquisitor. We invited a few others, but they couldn’t attend. Josie and I used to have them every now and then, back when we were in Val Royeaux and she was working on her studies. Just for fun. Relaxing. Gossip. Maybe a little Wicked Grace if we’re all in the mood.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever done such a thing,” Cassandra remarked.

“I suppose you wouldn’t have. You went directly from Seeker training to working for the Divine, and neither of those duties really give the opportunity to gather friends like this. Would you like to come?”

Leliana’s assessment was spot on. Cassandra hadn’t really thought much about it, but until recently, she could count the number of women she saw regularly and could call friends on a single hand.

“I would love to.”

They held their little party on Vivienne’s balcony. There would be some eavesdroppers, undoubtedly, but none of them particularly cared, and most of the traffic in the foyer tended to clear out towards the end of the afternoon, leaving only busy messengers on most nights. Vivienne had also broken out an excellent bottle of wine (unlabeled, and Cassandra didn’t even want to know where and when it had come from) and found a couple decks of cards. While it had been Josephine’s and Leliana’s idea, Vivienne had clearly picked it up and run with it.

“So, where do we start?” Lavellan asked once everybody had poured themselves some wine. “From what I hear, we have plenty of options.”

“There is a traditional order,” said Josephine. “We need not follow it, but it provides good guidelines for nights like these.”

Leliana explained, “Gossip first, stories second, card games third, truth or dare last.”

“In the Circle, we young mages tended to put our card games second,” Vivienne commented. “But, we never bet with any money, so it was more of a thoroughfare to the stories than anything else.”

“No money? Then what _did_ you bet on?” Cassandra asked.

Vivienne tapped her nose with a smile. “That, my dear, is a secret I shall take to the Fade.”

“You all better’ve brought coin if we play,” Sera chimed in. “Only thing that could possibly match money’d be underwear, and this doesn’t seem like that sort of night, yeah?”

“Let’s worry about that when we actually get there,” Josephine said, diplomatic as ever. ”All in favor of gossip first?”

“Aye,” Cassandra said, and the rest did the same.

“The best sort of gossip,” Leliana said, “is the kind where everybody listening knows who the players are. So if anybody has any interesting new specific to Skyhold, that’s what we’re after.”

“Shouldn’t you know all the gossip?” Cassandra asked. ”Wouldn’t your spies tell you everything?”

“Sadly, no. My spies are trained to pass on only information which is of use to me, and they know the difference. I might have two or three little tidbits to share, but that’s all.”

“Well, share them,” Vivienne insisted. “If you _do_ have such information, then it means that your network found it too interesting to pass up.”

“You’re not wrong about that,” Leliana said with a sly smile. “But I can’t be the only one who has fun to share. Surely we can come up with a few other things.”

Lavellan smiled. “I think I’ve got one for you. How much do you all know about our new arcanist?”

“The very enthusiastic young dwarf?” said Josephine. “I believe her name was Dagna. She was extremely pleased to take the position.”

“I don’t know whether to dream that all mages might have half her dedication, or to despair at the traditions she seems intent on shattering,” said Vivienne.

Leliana laughed into her drink. “Inquisitor, you asked her how she ended up in her position, didn’t you?”

“Your spies told you?”

“Not at all. I was there.”

Lavellan groaned. “Oh, I feel silly. I keep forgetting.”

“Many do,” Leliana said. To the rest of them, she explained, “I met Dagna when I was traveling the Hero of Ferelden. Dagna expressed that she wanted to join the Circle of Magi at Kinloch Hold. So we put in a good word at the Circle for her, and off she went.”

“You’re saying the Hero of Ferelden personally recruited Dagna?” Cassandra asked. “All you ever hear about her doing is stopping a Blight before it even passed Ostagar. I did not know she stopped to set up young dwarves for life on the way.”

“When we traveled together she was always doing little things like that,” Leliana said. A wistful smile tilted her lips. “Some of the less altruistic elements of our little party complained, but they never were able to stop her.”

Lavellan sighed. “Here I was thinking I had a neat bit of gossip, and I’d forgotten we have an even better source for that. I’m sorry, Leliana.”

“I don’t advertise that I knew her or talk about it very much. It’s understandable that you would forget. Besides, I’m sure the others are all interested.”

“I like Dagna,” said Sera. “She’s a girl that knows how to keep her britches on straight.”

Cassandra had no idea what that meant. She sipped her wine, trying to conceal it.

“I’ve got something,” Vivienne interrupted. “Lately I’ve had my curiosity piqued by our resident Gray Warden. I know the Wardens are generally mysterious, but Blackwall is so private that it’s nearly impossible to find anything out about him.“

“He seems like an admirable man,” Cassandra pitched in, curious where this was going.

“Well, sure, he’s like that,” said Sera. “Can’t be all a man is, can it? Big hero has to go home and make himself a cup of tea sometime.”

“Yes, exactly!” Josephine said, punching the air. “There’s got to be more to him.”

Cassandra smiled. “I’ll give you one piece of the puzzle: he carves. I don’t know why or how, but I went down to talk to Dennet and found out that he had cleared a table for Blackwall, just for his carving.”

“I can barely believe that,” Josephine replied.

Sera laughed. “So he’s a big hero-type die-true sort of blighted wanker who makes weird shite with his wood? Ain’t that a fork in the road.”

“Is there anything you can’t make sound dirty?” Lavellan asked.

Leliana interrupted before Sera could answer. “Inquisitor, I’m not sure you want to know the answer to that. Vivienne, are you saying you figured something out about him?”

A cruel smile lit Vivienne’s face as the spotlight returned to her. “Just so. After careful observation, I have come to a conclusion that changes _everything_ we know about him, dears. I don’t know if even you have picked up on this yet, Leliana.”

Leliana laughed. “That _would_ be a feat.”

“If I’m not mistaken, Blackwall is developing a little fancy for Josephine.”

“ _Me_?” Josephine said. She covered her mouth with her hand in shock. “You can’t be serious!”

“He’s a hard man to read, but every time you’re in the room, guess where his eyes are?” Vivienne said, smiling. “See for yourself some time.”

Lavellan had started giggling to herself the moment Josephine had reacted, and Sera began soon after. Cassandra found herself joining in, she couldn’t help it. Even Leliana broke before too long.

“Don’t laugh at me! I’m just - surprised!” Josephine turned to Lavellan, then Leliana, saying, “Come, now! There must be some mistake, I'm sure. It’s - I don’t even - I wouldn’t even have thought…!”

In the midst of the laughter and Josephine’s distraction, Leliana turned to Cassandra and winked. She mouthed something, "sell it," maybe? Cassandra didn't understand, and her mind raced trying to figure it out.

“Alright, alright, Josephine. As it happens, I do have one little bit of information that can save you,” Leliana said. “One little piece of gossip that will stop Vivienne in her wicked tracks.”

“I don't know how you expect to do that, but I do sincerely wish you luck,” said Vivienne. She leaned back like a queen readying herself for entertainment.

"Alright. Listen carefully, and listen well." Leliana leaned in and everybody followed suit, except for Cassandra, who had a feeling she knew exactly where this was going.

"Just yesterday," Leliana disclosed, "Varric was alone with somebody in a large closet for thirty minutes straight."

Lavellan was skeptical. " _Varric_ was? You don't mean..."

"I am only telling you exactly what was reported to me," Leliana said, though her smile implied agreement.

Josephine said, "Just tell us who was in there with him before we all scream of anticipation."

"Why, our own dear Cassandra."

At least three of them shouted at once, "Cassandra?!"

"You're having us on!" Sera accused.

Oh. _Sell it._ Cassandra got it now. Well, she wasn't about to lie, but she didn't think she would have to resort to such measures to play Leliana's little game.

"Leliana, I'm sure you know that what happened was a _private_ matter between me and Varric," she said, appropriately annoyed.

"You can't be serious," said Vivienne. "Cassandra, really?"

"I-I had no idea," Lavellan stammered.

"I thought they hated each other!" Sera exclaimed. "There's no way!"

"It's none of your business," Cassandra said, probably starting to blush. They were reading into her words completely, all except Leliana, who was smiling at Cassandra with slightly restrained glee, and Josephine, who seemed a little skeptical.

"Sprung from the depths of the greatest hate, the truest love is born," Vivienne said, quoting some famous play with a title Cassandra could never recall.

"Leliana," Cassandra growled.

"I only thought they should all know about your grand reconciliation," she remarked.

She said it so scandalously that the others probably thought they were still implying... kissing, but Cassandra picked up on her apt phrasing with surprise. "How did you know?"

"I didn't, but I guessed. Seems I wasn't wrong, was I?"

Cassandra shook her head. Leliana was scary. It wasn't the first time she'd had the thought, and she knew it wouldn't be the last.

"Well, come on, Cassandra," Josephine said. "At least tell us about it!" She didn't seem to have fully taken the bait, but she was starting to buy into it.

"Yeah, give us the details! Is he any good at least?" said Sera. "I'd bet so. Nimble big writer dwarf hands."

Cassandra took comfort in the fact that she wasn't the only one blushing that time. "There - there were no _hands_ involved," she managed to say. There it finally was - Josephine, also blushing, had finally bought it. That made everyone. Leliana owed her one for this.

Vivienne raised her eyebrows. "No? Dear, just tell us what happened."

"Fine," she said. "I dragged him into it, I insisted. I said we should go somewhere private and he suggested the little storage room off the garden. So we went over there, and we -"

Cassandra paused just long enough for Leliana to start breaking into laughter.

"We talked."

"You what?" said Lavellan.

"I apologized for my behavior, and he apologized for his, and then we talked for a little longer before going our separate ways."

"There it is," said Leliana. "Their grand reconciliation!" Cassandra started laughing as well. She didn't find it quite as amusing as Leliana seemed to, but she could appreciate the joke nevertheless.

"Oh, _well_ played," said Vivienne. She shook her head. "The two of you actually had me."

"I knew it!" Josephine despaired. "I knew it and I let myself get taken in anyway!"

"You are nasty, you two," said Sera. "Rotten liars."

"We spoke only the truth," Cassandra said. "I said it was a private matter, none of your business. Leliana called it a reconciliation. You all assumed."

Josephine smiled, impressed. "It was very well done."

Sera huffed a sigh. "Should've known better. Those two'd never get along that well. And he isn't sweet enough for her."

Something about that comment rubbed Cassandra the wrong way, but then Lavellan asked, "Have you two done that often? When you were working with Divine Justinia, maybe?"

"Only once," said Leliana.

Cassandra blinked. "We have?"

"You don't remember? With Revered Mother Regina?"

"That's right," Cassandra said, remembering it now. "We made her think… I guess we have."

"What do you all say we move on to the storytelling portion of the evening now? Starting with this story?" said Vivienne. "I'd love to hear it. I'll pour more wine."

"You see," Leliana said, "Revered Mother Regina was very, very uptight about the rules at her Chantry - and in _her_ rules, if a woman wasn't in armor, well then, she _must_ be wearing some kind of skirt or dress..."

-

They never got around to truth or dare or Wicked Grace. By the time they were done telling stories, they were already tiring, since most of them were coming off a busy day. All went to bed happily tipsy and completely exhausted, except for Vivienne, who was apparently immune to common things like being drunk or tired.

Leliana followed Cassandra out. “That was nice,” she said quietly as they walked together. “Thank you for coming.”

Cassandra smiled. “Thank you for inviting me. It really was nice.”

“I honestly wasn’t sure it would go that well. I know sometimes you and Sera clash the wrong way, and Vivienne’s politics don’t always match up with the Inquisitor’s, and I didn’t…” Leliana sighed. “When Josephine brought it up, I wasn’t sure it was such a good idea.”

“I think all of us enjoyed ourselves,” Cassandra said, putting a hand on Leliana’s shoulder. Leliana tensed slightly, but quickly relaxed and settled.

“We did, and I’m glad. I just feel like I should have had more faith. Sometimes I wonder if my work doesn’t make me feel like secrets are all there are - sad things, bad things, people not getting along. I see all the things that could go wrong. Josie still saw all the things that could go right.”

“Leliana, forgive me, I am not very good at this,” Cassandra said. She stopped Leliana with a hand and then drew her into a short, slightly awkward hug. She caught Leliana by surprise and Leliana cringed slightly, but she quickly relaxed after a moment. “I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know your job. I don’t have an answer. But you have smiled and laughed like the rest of us tonight. At least for today, do not think on it. If you are still capable of appreciating the light in the world, I think you will be fine.”

“That comforts me more than you can know,” Leliana said. She warmly returned the hug. “Thank you.”

“Any time.”

“And thank you for playing along with my little joke,” Leliana said, smiling a little again. “I know I probably crossed a bit of a line…”

“You gave me plenty of opportunity to shoot you down. Had I truly wanted you to stop, I would have stopped you, and I’m sure you would have acquiesced.”

“Of course,” Leliana said. They reached a turn in a hallway which would separate them. “We should do this kind of night again sometime.”

“I completely agree. Goodnight, Leliana. Sleep well.”

“Yes… You, too.”

Exhaustion finally took Cassandra when she closed the door to her room. She undressed and collapsed into bed in a fog, and she would tell anyone who asked that she had fallen asleep before her head even hit the pillow.

-

She woke slowly, feeling refreshed and cheerful. Too tired to dream, she thought to herself. It was just a little while past dawn, and although she once again had much to do, she thought maybe she could take the morning slow.

Cassandra would not get that opportunity. She was only half-dressed when there was a knock at her door. “One moment!” she called out, quickly pulling on a grey undershirt.

It was Cullen at the door. “Good morning, Cassandra. Can I speak with you about something?”

Unusual, Cassandra thought, but she made no remark of it. “Of course. Come in.”

“Thank you,” he said.

Once Cassandra had shut the door behind him, he slumped slightly against the wall, sighing.

“Cullen?” she asked hesitantly.

“It’s… worse today,” he said quietly. “By now I’m half-used to it, but I could barely sleep last night. I was hoping… I don’t know what I was hoping. For help. Which I think I need.”

“You can start at least by sitting down,” Cassandra suggested gently.

“Yes. Of course.” He shuffled over to the one chair she had in her room and sat in it. He looked tired, though, didn’t they all these days? That was a grim thought, and Cassandra ignored it.

“What do you want?” Cassandra asked, thinking simple questions might help. He seemed a little confused.

“I’m… not sure. For this to end. Hopefully, on the right side of things. No lyrium.”

“No, not on such a grand scale. What do you want _right_ now?”

“Sleep,” he said quickly.

“You haven’t been able to?”

Cullen grimaced. “It takes me a while to get to sleep, most nights. Last night, I didn’t sleep at all. It… it wasn’t good. Spent all night turning and thinking about… you can guess. If I could just get a few hours, I think I would be fine. As I am now, between the withdrawal and the exhaustion…”

“Alright.” Cassandra put her head in her chin. “In that case? Sleep.”

"What?"

“Sleep.” Cassandra waved her hand at her bed.

“I can’t just _fucking_ -” Cullen moved his hand as if to slam it against the arm of the chair, but he stopped himself. Cassandra tensed slightly until Cullen let the burst of anger go. “I’m - I’m sorry. You’re… serious.”

“If you’re wondering if I care about a man sleeping in my bed, then no, I don’t. If you’re wondering why I think this might work, it’s because it’s what you say you need, and I think you’re right. If you’re wondering how I can help, then know that you’ll fall asleep with someone watching over you and making sure you don’t do something foolish in your present state of exhaustion.”

“I…” Cullen furrowed his brow. “You’ve… wiped out all my objections in one go. Wait, no, I’ve got one. What about breakfast?”

Cassandra shook her head. “You must have a very poor opinion of me if you think I cannot wait for breakfast just a little longer.”

Cullen sighed. “Very well. Let me say thank you now, lest I forget my manners after the fact.”

“You’re welcome,” Cassandra said. She couldn’t say she was exactly happy her morning had been interrupted, but at the same time, she would never complain.

“Right. I guess I’ll just…” Cullen slipped his coat off and unbuckled some armor quickly, revealing a sensible, simple shirt and pants. Cassandra watched without shame. Cullen wasn’t her type, in either personality or looks, but he was far from unattractive and she could appreciate the view.

He caught her watching and raised his eyebrows at her.

“What?” she asked.

“This isn’t a…” He coughed awkwardly. “I just want to make it perfectly clear-”

“I am not dating you, now or ever, Cullen.”

“Right. Good.” Maker, he was awkward. He flopped on top of her bed, apparently not in the mood for sheets, closed his eyes, and sighed.

“By the way, have you told anybody else yet?” Cassandra asked.

“No, but only because I haven’t found a good moment. I’ll tell Lavellan. She should know.”

“Good choice,” Cassandra said with genuine approval.

“I can’t just…” he said. “I just wish I could get it out of my head. I want it gone. Even if it’s just for a little while. Just long enough to make me fall asleep.”

The words hit Cassandra with a powerful sense of familiarity; déja vu, Leliana would call it. She knew exactly, _precisely_ , what would help him.

“I’ll tell you a story,” she said. “One time, while we worked for the divine, Leliana and I met Revered Mother Regina, and she rubbed me _all_ the wrong ways…”

It wasn’t hard for Cassandra to repeat the story from the previous night. The time passed slowly, and for a long while, Cullen kept moving - throwing an arm this way, another that way, bending his knees one way or another. Finally, Cullen fell asleep just before she hit the punchline.

Quietly, she rose out of her chair and finished putting her armor on. She slipped out of her room. It was about time those dreams came in handy for something, she thought.

-

And so she began the day. Cassandra was still busy, but her work the day before had paid off, and she had less to do. No time for proper, possibly much needed introspection, but she was able, with Dorian's permission, to sneak in the first chapter of _Hard in Hightown: Siege Harder_ in little increments.

Lunchtime came and went, and after it, she decided she would check in on Cullen. She went to her room and found it empty. Cullen had already gotten up. Hopefully, that was a promising sign and not an ominous one. The fact that he'd made her bed when he left, even though he had merely slept on top, seemed promising.

She decided to go around Skyhold subtly looking for him. Her journey didn't last very long, however. Setting foot in Skyhold's main hall, she spotted Varric relaxing in a chair with pen to paper.

"Varric?"

Varric dotted a final period and looked up. "Seeker!" he said with a delighted grin. "How can I help you?"

"I was looking for Cullen. Have you seen him?"

"Yeah, sure. He came this way half an hour ago with his hair all handsomely mussed, muttering something about food. Don't know where he is now, though."

The tiny seed of worry Cassandra had been harboring shriveled away. "Thank you. Much appreciated."

"You need him for something?"

"No. He was attending to an important matter this morning, and I wondered if he was back yet." All true.

"Well, then. Let me take a quick guess: you haven't given yourself a good break in the last two days."

"Not completely true. Last night I participated in a little party with some other women."

"Fine, then what about this morning?"

"No, I have not."

"Knew it. Can I steal you away for a little while?"

"Ugh." If he kept making statements like that in public, maybe the others _would_ think they had kissed in a storage room for thirty minutes the other day.

"Oh, come on. Nothing salacious, Seeker. Well - a little salacious."

"Spit it out."

"I wondered if I could get your opinion on that last chapter of _Swords & Shields_ before I send it off to my editor," he said. "As a favor."

"My opinion?" Cassandra was surprised. "Why would you want that?"

"Oh, I have a few reasons."

"Indulge my curiosity."

"Fine, fine. You drive a hard bargain, Seeker. Honestly? If there's anyone I can trust to give me the truth straight, it's you."

That was not an answer she had expected. "But I'm a fan. That makes me biased."

"But it's the kind of bias I need. You'll be able to point and say 'this is embarrassing to read' and then point to another part and say 'this is embarrassing to read, but I love it,' and that's an important distinction. Not to mention, you've never had trouble being nice and brutally honest with me."

"I had not thought of it that way."

"That's why I'm the writer and you're the reader," Varric said with a wink. "So will you help me? Could be fun."

Perhaps she fell easily for requests for help. Perhaps she was curious. Or perhaps she was out of her mind. "I'm warning you now: I am no good with spelling or grammar, and I read very slowly."

Varric smiled, maybe even genuinely. "Don't care. You like the story and you'll tell me how, where, and why. That's all I need."

Cassandra felt a little heat in her cheeks, inexplicably. "Then I'm glad I can help."

"The current draft is over here." Varric waved her over to his little desk. "Most of the second half is the same - it was a good ending, good stuff; I only added a paragraph on the second to last page. The first part I revised some more - didn't like how it played out, felt too contrived."

"I thought contrived solutions were part of the genre."

"Yeah, but that was treading into blighted deus ex machina territory."

"Day... What?"

"Old term from the Imperium days for everything being fucked up until some unexpected powerful force shows up and fixes it all without any prelude or set up or anything. Pretty cheap way to fix a messy plot."

Cassandra snorted. "Did you just admit to having a messy plot?"

"Messy? No!" He grinned up at her as he handed her a short stack of paper. "A little disorganized, maybe, but never messy."

"Right. Disorganized." As Cassandra took the draft from him, she rolled her eyes.

"Thanks, Seeker."

"You're welcome."

He settled back into his usual fireside seat while Cassandra stole another chair nearby. She picked it up and put it just a few feet away from Varric, then started to read by the light of the fire, skimming over the parts that seemed familiar.

"This is better," she said after a little while, finishing up the first part.

Varric put down his pen. "Tell me how."

"It felt much less sudden. The nod back to the Eagle's Nest Brothel brought it together more. It also paints Lady Eagle in a much better light, knowing she was helping them behind the scenes all along."

"You like Lady Eagle?"

"I can respect a woman who builds herself from nothing, even if it is by methods I would not personally endorse."

Varric looked amused. "You said the same thing about Hawke. She was partial inspiration for Lady Eagle, you know."

"I had figured. Your naming was not subtle. What of it?"

"It's - never mind." Varric shook his head. Cassandra was certain she was missing a joke, but it didn't seem like Varric was going to share. "What else?"

Moving on, she flipped to a page and moved her chair closer to Varric's so she could pass the draft over. "This part, right here. This was the only part that felt a little strange. Before as well as after you revised it."

"Strange, huh?"

"I can't figure out what Derrick is doing there. Is he trying to kiss her?"

"Of course."

"Wasn't he across the room a moment ago? When did he move?"

"Oh." Varric read the words again, quicker than she could. "Whoops."

"He's also trying to, um, kiss her from behind. A woman like Carol, would she really take well to that?"

Varric raised an eyebrow. "You have a better idea?"

After giving it a moment of thought, Cassandra cleared her throat, a little embarrassed. "Sit next to her, take her hand, then kiss her,” she suggested. “Slow steps."

"Hmm.” Whatever Varric had been hoping for out of her answer, he seemed to find it. “Good idea, that could work. Let me try it." He gave most of the pages back to her, keeping the page she had pointed out. "Here. Keep reading for a sec."

Cassandra shrugged and did so. Varric, meanwhile, started writing out a replacement paragraph on a different sheet of paper.

Varric worked with surprising focus, his eyes pinned to the page and a small frown stuck on his face. He silently tapped his pen against the side of the desk when he was looking for a word. She watched him thoughtfully for a moment, somewhat conscious of the fact that she had never really him work before. Then she caught herself and returned to reading.

Some of the following content was new, accounting for Lady Eagle's presence in the story. As Varric had said, the second half seemed to be mostly intact, and it made her job easy. She skipped ahead to the final part, finding the new paragraph he had mentioned adding, and read.

_When Derrick looked into her eyes, Carol knew what he had known all along. It was written in the crinkle of his smile and the steadiness of his eyes. He loved her. It frightened her to see it, and her heart raced, fluttering like the leaves of trees, dancing in the wind. How long had he loved her? How long had she loved him, not knowing it?_

"You done, Seeker?"

Varric startled her. "Oh - yes," she said, pulling her mind back to reality.

"See if this is any better." He passed the sheet he had been working on back to her.

It was much improved. Varric had taken her suggestion and even extended it, having Derrick kiss Carol's hand before her lips. Very romantic, in her private opinion.

"Better," she said with certainty.

"And the rest of it?"

"Terrible," she said. "Very, very good."

"That's what I like to hear," Varric said, grinning. He seemed to have snapped out of his intense focus on writing, and he was back to his usual personality. What an odd thing to witness.

"So have I helped?" Cassandra asked.

"Absolutely! With any luck, my publisher will like it. Other than a few easy grammatical edits, I'm pretty sure you just read the official final installment of _Swords & Shields_."

"Well, I'm glad I could assist."

"Cassandra. This was a one-time thing. Any more and I'd get shit from my publisher. But..." Varric shrugged. "If you want, I'll make sure you get one of the first few copies when they go out. Autographed, even," he said with a little chuckle.

"Perhaps not the autographs," Cassandra said, smiling slightly. "You still haven't mocked me for my interest in your books. I'm sure you would finally take the chance there."

"Seeker, I will mock you for a lot of things." She frowned. "Many, many things." She glared at him. "But if there's one thing I'll never pull your pigtails about, it's loving stories. Even - _especially_ ones about romance and adventure and all that sewage. You may not have noticed this, but they're my favorites, too."

"Thank you," she said with a certain degree of sarcasm.

"Any time."

"Are you capable of ending even a single conversation without acting like an ass?"

"Of course, Seeker. I'm a businessman. I just choose not to."

"I think I'm going to go hit something with my sword," she muttered.

"Have a good time. And seriously - thanks for the company."

Cassandra got up. "You're welcome,” she said sharply before exiting the hall.

Varric could be so infuriating.

Or maybe he was teasing her after a nice moment of working together peacefully, and she was taking it as disrespect where none was meant.

She was halfway down the stairs when she turned and hopped back up them. She walked back over to the fireplace, where Varric had already sat down and begun staring at words with another frown.

“Varric?” she said.

He looked up, shocked to see her.

She was likely blushing with embarrassment; Cassandra hated feeling like she had acted like a child. “I’m sorry. Thank you. I enjoyed that. Have a nice day.”

Varric's mouth fell open slightly. He shut it again and said, “Uh - you too, Seeker. You too.”

Cassandra gave him a short, acknowledging nod, and then left, feeling a little more satisfied with herself.


	5. Chapter 5

The rest of the day was ordinary. As she had said she would, Cassandra hung around in the north courtyard and went through a bit of sword practice. Partway through, Lavellan showed up and told her she’d be coming along to the Western Approach the day after tomorrow. Cassandra replied that she would be ready.

Cullen also stopped by, still very awkward, but thankful. He looked better for having rested a little, for which Cassandra was glad. “I told Lavellan,” he added. “She was… supportive.”

“Did you expect she would not be?”

“No. I was just relieved.”

“Nobody who knows you would think less of you for what you’re doing. If anything, they would think more of you.”

“Right,” Cullen said, and though he didn’t fully believe it now, Cassandra thought he would before too long.

The remainder of the day was ordinary but for the end of it. As Cassandra was preparing to wrap her day up, she spotted something out of the corner of her eye.

Frowning, she stood up from her desk and stared at the spot where she had saw something.

Slowly, Cole poked his head out from behind a pillar.

“Hello,” he said.

“Cole, were you watching me?”

“Not… intentionally.”

Cassandra wasn’t sure how someone could unintentionally intrude upon somebody's usual office space and watch them.

Cole ducked his head. “Sorry.”

She sighed and rubbed her head. “It’s not a problem. But in the future, I prefer that others try to be somewhat visible if they’re nearby. ”

“Don’t worry. I won’t do that where it’s sandy.”

“Sandy? Where… the Western Approach?” Cassandra asked. She frowned. “The Inquisitor decided to take you?”

“Yes. I want to help. Would I not help?”

“You could be of use,” Cassandra said very slowly. “But none of that explains why you were watching me. Unintentionally.”

“I’m trying…” Cole trailed off. “It’s growing inside, eating me alive when I sleep. When I’m awake it’s fine but at night it is all red, only red, singing at me, except for when he uses his words to make it feel far away. It hurts more every time-”

“Cole.” Cassandra stopped him, chilled. She could bear to hear no more.

“That’s why I’ve been hiding. I can’t - I don’t know how to fix it. I used to know that place but it got all tangled.”

There was something about the way he phrased it that made Cassandra think. Now that he mentioned it, she hadn’t seen Cole around in a very, very long time. Had he been intentionally concealing himself from her? And because there was something causing her pain, and he didn’t know what to do about it?

It was actually sweet. Very misguided, but sweet. And she was fairly sure that some demon trying to take her soul wouldn’t do anything even close to that.

“I…” Cassandra felt herself slipping into a very motherly role, one she wasn’t exactly very accustomed to. Maker help her. “Cole, it’s okay. You don’t have to fix that.”

“What can I do?” he asked.

“Maybe…” Cassandra sighed. “Right now, nothing. But sometimes, people deal better with pain they can’t do something about if you help them with other, smaller things.”

“So… If I can help you with something else, maybe that would help you with the red dreams?”

“Maybe. Does that help?”

Cole frowned. “I came here to help you… but you helped me. Helped me… help you.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. People often do it for each other.” Cassandra smiled slightly. “For some people, including you and I, helping other people makes us feel a little better, even if we can’t help ourselves.”

“So… I came to help you, but you helped me help you, and that means I helped you?”

“I - I can’t follow that logic. I’ll give myself a headache. Yes… Maybe.” Cassandra shook her head. “Go think on it, Cole.”

“I will,” he said softly. He left quietly, so quietly that if she hadn’t been carefully watching him, she was certain she would have lost him in a blink.

“Oh, and Cole?” Cassandra called out when he was nearly at the bottom of the stairs. “About the red dreams - please don’t tell anyone.”

“My dreams are not red, but they are blighted. I won’t talk about that, either.”

Cassandra couldn’t fully detangle that one, but it sounded like assent. Good enough for her.

It was a strange encounter, but not an unpleasant one. Cassandra wondered how their trip to the Western Approach would go. After that little meeting, for the first time, Cassandra thought she could trust Cole. She would keep an eye on him, still, but after that, it was hard to imagine he was anything more than what he said. The danger that remained was from outside sources - there might be ways, Cassandra thought, that others might be able to manipulate Cole if they learned he was a spirit of some sort. That would not end well.

That night, Cassandra had some time to herself for the first time in what felt like ages. It was some time that was badly needed. In the last few days so much had happened, some things had changed, things she needed to think about and consider for herself.

Cassandra went to her chair and propped open a book, but just to give her fingers something to hold and her eyes paths to trace. She had no intention of reading it.

Where to start?

The ladies' party had gone well. Cassandra was realizing slowly that in the Inquisition she had more friends, even fairly close friends, than she had ever before known. Wasn't that a marvelous thought? Each and every one of them had some kind of place in her world these days, as an old friend or a new one, as a confidant or almost a rival, whatever it may be. Well, maybe she wasn't quite so close with Sera, but it wasn't as if they were staunch enemies, either.

In addition to all the women at the party, she'd incidentally built some sort of rapport with nearly all the other parts of their team. She and Dorian had started their own little Varric's Books Book Club, for one. She and Varric - well, she'd get to him in a moment, but things were better. She had finally found the common ground with Solas that allowed them to befriend one another, and that was a triumph. With Cole, she was getting there. Perhaps this trip with him to the Approach would do her good. She already knew she liked the Iron Bull, unnecessary flirtations and all. And with Cullen, she was building a solid friendship that would likely carry them both through hard times, if need be.

It was a good change. She had been busier than ever since Justinia's death, but she had also grown more comfortable. She almost wondered if it was one of the Divine's last gifts to her - her death had led Cassandra to find a place in the world where she belonged. Cassandra wouldn't put it past her.

"Thank you," she murmured.

There was the matter of Cullen's withdrawal. She thought he was managing it impressively. That he had told Lavellan, as he had said he would, was a good sign - she had heard that with addictions, people did not always follow through when they said they would tell someone. He appeared to be in pain, perhaps more pain than she even realized, but he was holding it together, and so far she'd seen no error in judgement with any of his commands.

She still worried. How long would the withdrawal last? Weeks? Months? There was no way to know. Cullen had mentioned once when she checked in with him that the longest known survivor killed himself three weeks in. They were treading in uncharted waters, and could only hope that things would get better, and not worse.

There was also the matter of his temper. When he was tired, if not at other times, he was clearly more prone to angry violence. He was aware of it, however, or he wouldn't have caught himself before slamming his hand against her chair.

Would sparring help him? If he had violent urges and took them out against someone who could certainly defend herself, that might do him some good. Cassandra made a mental note to invite him to spar with her the very next day. She was leaving for the Approach, but perhaps in her absence she could make a suggestion that he speak with the Iron Bull about sparring, if not about the lyrium withdrawal itself.

It was nice to have a better idea of how to help him.

Cassandra took a deep breath, leaning back in her chair.

Varric.

Only days ago she was a ball of turmoil about him, guilty over her behavior, still somewhat angry at him, and unsure what he thought of her. All she had known was that she was going to apologize and see where it went, and she would deal with the ramifications of dreaming about him later.

Now, they stood somewhere completely different. Her apology to him had turned into an unexpectedly deep conversation, speaking of forgiveness and change and faith. It was a side of Varric she had seen only hints of until then. Part of him was somber, withdrawn. How had he gotten to be that way? With some more serious part of him buried so deeply that she still wondered how she had managed to unearth it?

A faithfully Andrastian part of him, no less. She could not have seen that coming. Yet, it made sense in its own way. By his own implicit admission Varric's life had left him little to believe in. There was a certain sense to the idea that he had turned to some kind of faith, one that appealed to him at the very heart of who he was.

It wasn't right that he lived in a world that had done so much to him, that had even driven him away from his own belief. That the Chantry was part of that left a sour taste in Cassandra's mouth, as did the knowledge that he wasn't alone in that experience.

And in all this, he was even surer than she that they were following the path the Maker had laid before them. Some part of her was shaken by that; her pride, most likely. It caused some old fears to resurface, fears she'd thought she had put away long ago. The fear that she was not the faithful woman she thought she was.

No, Cassandra would not entertain that notion again. Nor would she allow herself to resent Varric for being able to trust their course more.

Besides, though part of her wanted to resent him for it, the greater part was full of admiration. Faith was not an easy thing. It awed her that he carried it with him against all the odds. It was easy to indulge in that admiration instead.

It was not the only thing she admired about Varric. His way with words was wonderful; he had attained a level she would never reach. He got along with other people with ease. The loyalty he showed for his friends was unparalleled. It was strange to think she could now count herself among them. There was a chance, and not a small one, that were Varric put in a similar position to the one she had put him in during that interrogation, he would lie for her. She liked that thought and didn't like it at the same time. He could even be somewhat sweet, roping her into taking a break by reading his work, and such that she didn't realize it was a break until after the fact.

The most frustrating part about Varric was his constant lying and exaggerating and general dishonesty. However, she thought she now understood it to be a façade he mostly put on as a measure of protecting himself. It was not, as she had thought for so long, disrespect or lack of morality. It was the way he was, and it was a way that Cassandra instinctually clashed with, but she now that she knew better there would be less of that. She hoped.

Cassandra felt as though she'd discovered all this about him in a matter of days, though in truth many of the tracks had been laid before her long ago. She had only chosen not to follow them. That was not easy to swallow.

At the end of it all, she liked Varric, and she liked him a lot. She liked his stories, his thoughts, his efficiency in battle, his way of challenging her. She was even getting used to his teasing.

She made herself think the last part with some difficulty, but she strove to be true to herself and this could be no exception.

Cassandra was attracted to him. Just a little. It hardly made sense. He was _not_ her type. Was he? Maybe she was wrong about that.

It was not important. Nothing would happen. She found the Iron Bull somewhat attractive too, and that was never going to happen. The same was true of this.

All that aside, it was nice to finally be on good terms with Varric.

It felt good to just think for a while, to sort everything out. Cassandra felt thoroughly refreshed. That wasn't to say that all her problems had been solved, but she knew where she stood with things, and that was very important.

Soon they would try to strike another blow at Corypheus. There was a bright future ahead, and Cassandra would fight for it, if need be, to the very last.

-

She dreamed it sang to her, within her, alluring and dangerous, and she was alone, with nobody to spin a tale against the red. She barely recognized herself. In some ways, she felt more like that haunting melody than a person…

When Cassandra woke up in the morning, she nearly broke a practice target trying to chase the loneliness away.

By comparison, the day was boring. She saw Josephine and sparred a little with Blackwall, but her time was consumed with preparations for the Western Approach. She was not looking forward to heat and sand. She also wondered who the final member of their party would be. She knew it was not Blackwall, but that didn’t really narrow anything down.

Cassandra went to bed in a poor mood, and hoping she would be able to rest before they left. She had a feeling her dreams would not cooperate, but she hoped nonetheless.

-

Cassandra woke up in her cell, shivering. It was gone. She heard no singing. It had not taken root in her - again. As she blinked awake, she stared at her hands, no longer glowing red, and knew she should be glad. But all it made her was more scared for the next time they tried.

"Cassandra?" Varric asked.

She still wasn't used to the extra layer in his voice, the haunting dual-tone which meant he was no longer fully himself. "I'm awake. It's gone." Her voice was low and scratchy, but she had expected that.

"Shit," he muttered. "Cassandra, if they make you take it again -"

"What, it will kill me?" she said bitterly.

"I don't know how much more your system can take," he said, slightly hoarse. "Either you'll finally get infected, or..."

"You can't even say the words."

"You know damned well why I can't," he replied with a hint of anger.

"I know," she said softly. "I'm sorry." She couldn't look him in the eye. She pulled herself up slowly, struggling into a sitting position on limbs that shook like jelly.

"I'll almost be thankful if it does take," Varric grumbled. "This shit will kill, but ever since I got on it, I've felt as strong as a horse. Even on prison rations."

"It's not worth it."

"Didn't say it was."

"I just wish I knew _why_ ," Cassandra said. "I think it must be the fact that I'm a Seeker. Under any other circumstances, it would be a blessing."

"So what, Seeker training somehow prevents lyrium addiction?"

"Yes."

"What in the name of Andraste's ears do they put you through?"

"That is a secret."

"And who's gonna hear it? The lyrium? The dwarf who'll die of it within a few months? The walls?"

"So cavalier with your own life as you are not with mine," Cassandra murmured.

"Well... Yeah."

She caught his eye then, and the care and concern that she saw there didn't surprise her.

Cassandra looked away again. She stretched her legs, gathering her words as she did so.  

"Seekers need to be able to see the absolute truth. It is by that truth that Seekers must be able to guide the world as they should, moving constantly to a better version of itself. Sometimes, emotions get in the way of seeing things as they are. Other times, emotions are important to seeing the truth - without emotions, we would not have faith, nor the doubt by which it is tested."

Cassandra coughed, clearing her throat. Varric glanced at her with mild concern but she shook her head. She was fine.

"Seeker training involves a process by which one learns to control one's emotions, so that they may be both used and ignored as the situation requires. You empty yourself of all emotion in seclusion for an entire year. The process brings you to a complete standstill. At the end of it, all that you are is silence and knowledge. Then, there is a vigil, an intervention which brings you out of it." She hesitated. "And there is a spirit. For me, a spirit of Faith, though I do not know if it differs from Seeker to Seeker. It touched me, and after, I was myself again, but more than myself. Stronger. Clearer."

Varric whistled softly. "That's... incredible." He frowned. "Hold on. You empty yourself of emotion?"

"What of it?"

"You know this already. It _likes_ emotion. It grows on it, heightens it. But you Seekers, you were once in a state of emotionlessness. Could that have some connection?"

"You're saying...  the lyrium has trouble staying in me because it can't thrive off my emotions as it would for most people?"

"It's only a theory."

"It's not a bad one." Cassandra sighed and shook her head. "...I think that resistance is breaking down, however."

"So knowing the cause changes nothing. The next time they try to dose you..."

"Yes. Or perhaps the time after that. Not long."

"Shit." Varric turned away. "I don't know if I can watch you go through that pain again, Cassandra. Fuck, the way they do it over and over again, worse every time, it's just torture at this point."

Cassandra grabbed at a bar, hearing the despair in his voice. "But what is the alternative? Give up? If there's even a chance..."

He was silent.

"We can get out of here," she said. "We can end this. Somehow. There will be a way."

Varric still didn't reply for a moment, but finally, he turned back to her, a weak smile crowning his face. "Maker's breath, Seeker. You're weaker than a baby nug, I'm dying of my worst fear, the world's gone to hell in the Elder One's hands, and still... You make me want to believe."

Cassandra tried to speak but her throat caught on the words. She bowed her head and choked back the urge to cry.

-

Cassandra woke up. It was still dark out.

She rolled over on her side, staring at nothing in particular.

It was a foolish thing to think of this first among all the questions her dream posed, but she did: maybe that attraction was more likely to pan out than she had thought.

Now was not the time to consider it. In the morning, she would consider what she had learned, and if it could be of any use to the Inquisition. There would be time.

More time than they'd had in that future, at least.

She fell back asleep with the images still playing out behind her eyelids, haunting her with the thought of what could be.

-

The morning was rushed. Cassandra was already half-packed, so she finished and went to find herself some breakfast. Varric was in his usual spot.

"Good morning, Seeker," he called as she passed by.

She hesitated, thinking it was wonderful to hear his voice without the red lyrium added to it. "Good morning," she called back.

He glanced at her with brief confusion, maybe picking up on her hesitation, but said only, "Have a nice trip. Try not to step on a wyvern’s tail. Take care of her Inquisitorialness and the Kid. Don't let them fall into any strange holes."

"I won't," Cassandra said, only slightly sarcastic. Varric cracked a smile and she moved on before she could get flustered by unnecessary thoughts. Maker take her.

She ate in a rush, pausing only to run by Cullen’s office.

“Cassandra,” he greeted. “Aren’t you leaving soon?”

“Yes, but I had an idea last night. When you’re… well, you know, when you’re in a certain state, you seem to get a little more angry and violent.”

“That’s… true,” Cullen said slowly.

“If it gets troublesome, why not invite the Iron Bull to spar?”

“You mean, apart from the fact that he’ll kill me?”

“Cullen, I’ve sparred with the Bull before. He’ll bruise you at the worst.”

“No, I’m pretty sure he actually breaks the bones of us mere mortals,” Cullen said with a rare burst of sarcasm. Cassandra blinked at the implication that she wasn’t mortal, even if it was a joke.

“He’s also tactful enough that he will not ask questions with answers you’re unwilling to give. Try it.”

“I’ll give it some thought,” Cullen said. “Do good work out there. Don’t worry about me while you’re gone.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Cassandra replied. Because she’d be dreaming of someone else, most likely, her mind added. She quickly shooed the thought away.

What a mess of a morning.


	6. Chapter 6

Solas turned out to be the unknown fourth member of the party, which suited Cassandra just fine. It seemed Lavellan had gone with a team which was particularly outfitted for missions relating to the Fade.

“Hawke and Alistair will be meeting us there, at a rendezvous point not far from the source of Warden activity there,” Lavellan informed them. Alistair? Cassandra thought. She must have meant Hawke’s Warden friend, but she didn’t mean _the_ Alistair, did she? “There’s not much that we know at this point, unfortunately. We know that Warden-Commander Clarel, knowingly or otherwise, has taken the Wardens in their current direction. We know that Alistair’s… _outspoken_ nature had him deemed a traitor, and forced him to go on the run, when surely if the Wardens were acting sensibly they would hear his concerns instead. We know that every Warden is hearing the Calling, and it may be connected to Corypheus somehow.”

“ _Every_ Warden?” Cassandra asked, shocked. She hadn’t heard this.

“That’s not good,” said Solas. His gaze was grave. “If this Calling is true, then the world is about to lose its primary weapon against the blight. If false, they could be led to do terrible things, believing it to be true.”

Lavellan nodded. “Currently, we believe the case to be the latter.”

“It isn’t nice,” Cole added. “Ringing in my ears I can’t unhear, the death knell as I walk into the roads. The end for we who were blighted from the start.”

“Poor Alistair,” Lavellan murmured.

They departed from Skyhold headed west. Cassandra was thankful. An important mission, in addition to some time away from Skyhold (no, don’t dodge the subject: Varric), would give her the time she needed to put herself in order.

The trip was, for the most part, quiet. Solas had brought along a text of his, some history book. Cassandra hadn’t bothered to read the title. Lavellan seemed lost in thought, and Cassandra was much the same.

The strangest part of the trip, for Cassandra, was the realization that even in Orlais, the Inquisition was becoming known. Passing travelers, headed towards Val Royeaux or Lydes, asked if they could travel with them for a time, trusting their safety to the Inquisitor and her followers. Other passersby, likely bandits or thieves, saw the Inquisition banner and made sure to travel clear of their way.

Solas caught her watching a group of highwaymen take a sudden turn off the road. “We are becoming a power,” he said quietly. “There are those who want to ally with us, and those who are already our enemies. I wonder what the Inquisition will become. I wonder if it will become enough.”

“Time alone will tell,” Cassandra replied, thinking of the same things. “We can only believe that we will make the best possible decisions, and pray.”

“Yes. Perhaps that’s all we ever do,” Solas mused. Cassandra was unsure how to respond to that. It rang with truth for her in some ways, and did not in others.

Hours of travel passed.

Her mind was drifting on her dreams again. The resurgence of certain memories didn’t seem to be a coincidence, she thought. Varric’s faith had surprised and somewhat unsettled her, reminding her of her doubts about the Inquisition and its purpose. She had been reminded of that fear that always lurked, that the faith in her heart was not hers, but a spirit’s manifested inside her when she became a Seeker. She had been pious before her initiation, but that memory could be an artifact of the spirit, too.

Then, that very night, she had dreamed of telling Varric about the spirit. Her dreams had perfectly reflected the fears that were on her mind.

It couldn’t be accidental. Maybe it was the nature of dreams, and of the Fade? Did similar emotions bring the parts of the Fade which carried her memories closer?

Cole interrupted her thoughts.

“Oh,” he said, drawing the syllable out to match his surprise. “That makes more sense.”

She glanced over her shoulder. Cole was looking at her from under the brim of his hat with a small smile that, to be frank, slightly worried her.

“Why do you look at _me_ when you say that?” she asked, suspicious.

"You found Faith,” Cole explained, “Not just a feeling, but a _spirit_."

The words chilled her. There were few things Cole could have said which would have shaken her more. "We do not need to speak of this further,” she said tersely.

“What’re you talking about, Cole?” the Inquisitor asked. Solas, too, was listening with curiosity and attention.

"I'm a spirit that touched a body, you're a body that touched a spirit!” Cole said. Her terror clearly hadn’t quite reached him, or else, he thought his revelation could heal her, and he was wrong. “We're the same, but backwards!"

"Please, stop," she begged him.

Cole seemed to get the message then, quieting instantly.

So much for this trip going well.

“You found Faith.” The words rung in her head, an echoing eulogy. The confirmation she had never wanted that she was, at heart, a lie.

She ducked her head and took a deep breath, shoving her response, her entire disorganized state of mind, into the farthest corner of her mind she could find. She had not entertained these thoughts before, and she would not now. Why could they not just go away?

The Inquisitor approached her after a little while. “Cassandra, are you well?” she asked in an undertone.

“I am fine,” she said calmly. She knew, with absolute certainty, that there was no emotion in her voice and nothing but placidness in her expression.

“Then may I ask what that was about, with Cole? Unless it’s too private.”

“It is.”

“And whatever it is, it doesn’t concern the Inquisition?”

“It does not.”

“Very well,” Lavellan said. She was quiet for long enough that Cassandra thought she had given up. Then, she said only,  “Come back to us when you can,” and left Cassandra her space again.

Cassandra had a feeling Lavellan meant it in more than just a physical sense. She had noticed, despite Cassandra’s efforts to hide it, or maybe because of them, that Cassandra had withdrawn from her emotions. And she had not pushed. It… It was kind of her.

Without that kindness, Cassandra wondered if she wouldn’t have remained in that state for days, detangling her emotions all on her own. Instead, by nightfall, she was starting to return, just a little, step by step. One thought that helped was a very simple one: whether or not she could believe in herself, she could believe in her friends, and in the fact that they cared for her. Even Cole, who had undoubtedly misstepped and felt bad - not that she was in a rush to console him over it.

The four of them were sitting around a campfire. Lavellan was telling Solas a story which Cassandra could not hear.

Cole shifted closer to Cassandra. “I’m sorry,” he said to her. “I know I can help, can undo what I’ve done, but I don’t have the words yet. I’ll keep looking for them.” Cassandra wasn’t sure what to say. She couldn’t say she wasn’t mad, because though she would never act on it, and had buried it with the rest, yes, she was. Because she was mad, she could not in good faith console him.

“I’ll be waiting,” she said finally. Maybe that was the best way to express it, her awareness that things likely would be okay with the knowledge that Cole was trying, but right now, they were not.

He bobbed his head in understanding, and did not speak, and did not move away.

The rest of the trip was full of relative silence. Cassandra unfolded herself day by day, and before too long, she was back to her regular self - mostly. Though they did not pry, Solas and Lavellan both seemed relieved.

Cole was still somewhat troubled. At one point he said to her, “Whatever you did, it’s making it harder for me. I can’t reach.”

It made sense. Seeker training was as ever useful and not useful at once. “I imagine it would,” she said, “but I cannot undo it.”

“You mean, will not.”

“In this case, they are the same,” she told him. “Yes, technically, I could. However, if I did, I would be distracted. We are nearly to the Western Approach, and I cannot afford that kind of distraction. If I am unfocused, somebody could get hurt.”

“So you suffer your own pain alone to prevent the pain of others.”

“In a sense.” Cassandra sighed. “The difference is that I am trained to do this, Cole. I know my strengths and my limitations. I know what I can bear and what I cannot.”

“The pain everybody suffers as a whole is less. But you’re still in pain, and I can’t help you. I want to, but I _can’t_. You’re spirit-touched and you’ve made it foggy. I can only get the pieces, and they’re crumbled, the unimportant things like the cold air and the blood on my hand.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Cassandra saw Lavellan turn her head in concern at the word “blood.”

“Give it time,” was all Cassandra said.

“I don’t like time,” Cole said, and that seemed to be the end of that.

It was after dark when they reached the Inquisition’s camp in the Western Approach.

Lavellan was getting briefed by Scout Harding, and Solas had picked up a rock on the ground and started peering at it in though, for who knew what reason. Cole was the shadow at Lavellan’s back, and most eyes glazed past him as though he were not there. It still unsettled Cassandra, though she was comforted slightly by the knowledge that he really only did it for strangers.

Cassandra went to see about ensuring that she and the rest would have tents for the night. She was due for another dream, and she would rather Lavellan’s tent were farthest away from hers, just in case the dream was bad enough that Cassandra made noise.

The task didn’t take long, but by the time she was done, she was bone-tired. She went to see Lavellan to report in. Her guard was slightly down, and her exhaustion slipped through.

Lavellan was talking with Solas now, and Cole still hovered nearby.

“Tents are on the north side of the encampment,” she said when she saw the Inquisitor.

“Great,” said Lavellan. She was visibly tired, as well. “Let’s go.”

“Tomorrow, we head southwest,” Solas added.

“I’ve got it,” Cole said. He startled Solas and Lavellan, who might not even have noticed he was there. “I found it at last - it’s _you_ , Cassandra.”

She looked at him in confusion. “What?”

“Breathing from the belly, cold air warmed, stones beneath me, candle before me, Maker all around… And nothing, empty, I'm cut, cauterized then cut, cleansed by a light that carries me home.” He looked up from beneath his hat. His eyes shone with excitement. “You're thinking backwards. You don't have faith because of the spirit, the spirit came because of your faith! It’s _you_!"

His words awed her. She struggled to comprehend them. She kept her reaction restrained - her heart was full of strong emotions, a complete reversal from the way she’d been a moment ago. It - it was her after all. She was no lie, no possession, no conjuration. More than that, she had - oh, Andraste and the Maker both.

"Thank you, Cole,” she said with quiet sincerity. “I appreciate that."

“I got it right,” he said to himself. He disappeared quickly, and all Cassandra could remember was his smile.

Solas' cough reminded Cassandra of where she was. She would consider the matter more deeply later. “I take it all is well?” Solas said.

“Just fine,” Cassandra said. She couldn’t help the smile that came to her lips. “The tents are this way,” she said, turning quickly on her heel to lead them away.

Once she was settled in a tent of her own (with both Solas’ and Cole’s tents between her and the Inquisitor), she let it go.

Her faith was her own. The Faith that touched her had given her abilities, but not her belief, not the core of who she was. For so many years she wondered, and now, she had her answer. Cole _knew_. The gift he had given her was immeasurable. The peace he had brought her could not be matched.

She owed him more than simple thanks.

Cassandra fell asleep with the knowledge that whatever her dreams brought her, it could not, would not shake her. Her faith had called a spirit to her in a time of need. An embodiment of Faith itself had been drawn to her. Short of a chance meeting with Andraste herself, she could have no better assurance that her belief was as true as could be.

Before that, nothing was insurmountable. Not a thing.

-

They shoved her back towards her cell and she turned and glared at them. "I will go quietly, you know. Your aggression towards me only serves to paint yourselves as wild brutes."

"Get in the cell," one of them grumbled to her. He seemed slightly stung by her words, which satisfied her. It was a petty win, but she would take it.

"Oughta be ashamed of yourselves," Varric grumbled from the cell across from hers.

Cassandra walked into her cell with as much strength and dignity as she could muster. She turned to look her jailors in the eye as they shut and locked her cell. Let them know, she thought fiercely, that they were in the wrong here. Let them know that their actions would only bring them ruin in the end.

The man locking her door looked down shortly after she caught his eye. Once the lock had been set in place, he left without another word, and the other man followed him.

It was not until the dungeon door had swung shut that she closed her eyes, turned, and leaned against the wall, resting.

"Whoa - Seeker?" Varric said.

"It's nothing," she said. "I am only tired."

" _Tired_? Andraste's ass, Seeker." She frowned a little at his choice of exclamation. "No, tired is what you should have been after three hours of failed interrogation the other day, but you only came back angry. Today they take you out for only one hour and you're flopping against walls. What happened?"

"Tired is better than the alternative," she told him in a quiet voice. "Calm down."

"I'm-" he started, still loud, but he cut himself off.

Cassandra opened her eyes slightly, and turned her head to watch him. He put his hand to his forehead, sighing, and visibly forcing himself to relax.

"Sorry," he said, quiet now. "What happened?"

"A mistake," she said. "Something I didn't expect. And neither did they."

"And that means...?"

Cassandra closed her eyes again and crossed her arms. "They had done it before, to others. They were efficient - almost no speaking, no warning to me of what they were going to do. They brought me there and strapped me down. I... protested."

"Violently, I hope."

Cassandra smiled slightly. "I managed to get one of them in the face with my foot when he tried to strap it down. I don't think I broke his nose, but he was certainly bleeding."

"Wish I could have seen that," Varric said with a short laugh.

"Yes, I thought you might appreciate that part. The rest, however..." Cassandra's smile fell from her face. "I'll spare you some of the less important details. Once they had me secured, they gave me red lyrium."

"They _what_?" Varric sounded horrified.

" It... It tried to take me. It hurt. They... They were perplexed by the fact that I did not scream."

"S-Cassandra, you don't have to..."

She ignored him. "I don't know how long it lasted. If you say I was gone an hour, then let's say it was thirty minutes. For the first half of it they treated it as normal, apart from thinking I should be in more pain than I was. But then, they grew concerned. At the end of it, I could no longer feel the lyrium in my system. My body had... rejected it, I think. I don't know why. They didn't either. Apparently, that is not the usual result."

"How the-"

"Then they took me back here."

Varric waited to see if she would say anything more. When she didn't, he said, "Cassandra, you didn't have to tell me all that."

"I'm just saying you need not worry about me. I am only tired and aching when I could be far worse."

"I need not what? You know that's not how it works." Cassandra opened her eyes. Varric was starting to work himself into anger again, half-pacing over the small length of his cell. "What in Queen Asha's name am I supposed to do? You come back from things that would break any normal person and you shrug it off like it's nothing. You talk about being in pain for half an hour straight and then say, 'oh, well, hey, I don't have one of the most dangerous substances known inhabiting my body, it's fine!' What should I think? Should I assume you can walk on water, or calm a dragon by blinking at it? What are you _thinking_?"

"I am not some kind of god, Varric, and I was thinking I wouldn't burden you with trivialities," Cassandra growled, becoming angry as well.

" _Trivialities_?"

"You're a civilian. There's no need-"

"A civilian? That's how you see me? Just when I thought maybe you saw me as an equal -"

"I never said -"

"- it turns out you've been babying me through all this?"

"And that's not what you've been doing to me?" she retorted. "No, you're not exactly a civilian, but you are not trained to deal with something like this. I am. I'm not saying my pain is trivial, only that it is not important right now. Is it so hard to believe me when I say that? To take me at my word when I say that other things are more important?"

“You don’t just act like your pain isn’t important right now, you act like it doesn’t _exist_. You act like it’s nothing to you. You don’t have to do that, Cassandra!"

"I never said it was nothing!"

"Oh, no, you never said that, you never say anything about it, that’s the _problem_!”

"Telling you what happened was higher priority. Damn it, Varric, I think they intend to try it on you next!"

"They -" Varric's anger drained out of him as he paled.

Cassandra abruptly realized how angry she had gotten and lowered her voice, calming herself. "You - you should know. You should be prepared. So that you can do your best to run. To get out of here before it's too late. I - I know you fear the lyrium, Varric. The rest, my pain. It could wait." At some point she had risen again, gripping the bars as she shouted. Without anger driving her, she remembered how tired she was and collapsed back against the wall, closing her eyes against a wave of dizziness.

"You were worried about me," Varric said quietly.

Cassandra nodded. "And you about me. It was not disrespect or disbelief. Just..."

"Care," he said, even quieter. "I... I know you can deal with all this. But you shouldn't have to."

"Neither should you."

"Well, that goes without saying."

Cassandra frowned. "Remind me to give you a very stern look for that one, later."

"Nah, don't bother. I know the look you mean. I can picture it just fine."

She almost laughed at that. No doubt he could.

Varric sighed. "Go to sleep, Seeker. Thank you for the warning. Get some rest. I'll wake you if I hear them coming."

Cassandra slipped down to the floor to sit. Her exhaustion loosened her tongue, and though she could tighten it if she really wanted to, she found that she... didn't. "Nice to know you care," she murmured.

"Never really didn't."

"You hated me."

"Just liked having your attention. Keeping you on your toes. The look on your face when something I said offended your sensibilities."

She snorted softly. "Most people avoid that look at all costs."

Varric chuckled. "Then they're smarter than me. Just sleep, Cassandra. I'll watch your back."

"Yes, I know."

It was a little while longer before she properly fell asleep. The tips of her toes and fingers still tingled, a reminder of pain she didn't want to think about right now.

She was glad Varric was here. She would not tell him, but she knew that if she were alone, or with somebody she felt less comfortable around, she might not be as well off as she was now. It surprised Cassandra how much she could trust him to watch her as she slept, and wake her when needed.

At some point in all this she had begun to trust him with more than just her life.

-

She woke up to a light sky, though the sun wasn’t up yet. A perfectly respectable time to wake, one which gave her a little while before she needed to be anywhere. Cassandra collapsed back against her pillow, appreciating the extra time to herself.

Cassandra liked the nights where what she dreamed of that future had no lyrium. Some nights were only pain. Nights like these, she treasured. They were not good things, but neither were they bad.

That said, she had concerns. For one, the ethics of keeping the dreams a secret from Varric had begun to concern her, lately. There were things he had no need to know. For example, he did not need to know that when she went to sleep, most nights, she dreamed of being in love with him. But some nights like tonight, she dreamed of things she had no right to know, like Varric confessing that he had never really hated her. It wasn't fair that she knew that about him, but he knew nothing similar about her.

If this continued, she might have to tell him. That idea disconcerted her. She was adjusting - very, very slowly - to the idea that in an alternate future she had been in love with Varric. She was also adjusting - very, very slowly - to the idea that she could end up falling for Varric again.

Cassandra didn't want him to know. It would cause complications. Also, she was a little afraid. It was one thing for two people to be drawn to each other in a time of desperation. There was no way to know how things would pan out in other circumstances. She... If it was indeed her hope that he might feel the same way, there would be no guarantees.

There was another cause for mild worry. They felt like more than just dreams. Perhaps they were memories. Real memories, delineated from her true memories only because she could distinguish them. There were details she did not notice during the dream which she could later pick out, thinking over them, smells and sounds that had not interested her at the time.

She didn’t think it would be an issue, but it made her want to learn a little more about the Fade, if she could find the opportunity. She had not taken Solas so literally when he said that the Fade might have been harboring her memories somehow. Perhaps she should have.

A little after dawn, Cassandra hauled herself up to her feet, put on some minimal armor, and started heading towards the center of the camp in search of food.

At some point or another, Cole must have begun shadowing her. A scout was handing her a bowl of oatmeal when somewhere behind her he said, “Me too?”

The bewildered scout was clearly confused and had never really seen Cole before. They looked up at Cassandra as if to confirm that Cole was there, and supposed to be there. Cassandra shrugged, and the scout gave in, handing Cole a bowl of oatmeal as well.

As the scout moved away, Cassandra asked, “Are you following me?”

“No.” Then, “Yes. You’re nice to be around. You hurt, but you are kind about it. You help me. Your thoughts are… pleasant.”

Cassandra took the bowl over to a nearby bench, sitting on the end so that Cole could sit next to her. “I thought you could only listen to somebody when they were hurting.”

“That’s true, but, I hear the thoughts about the hurt, and they’re nice. Some people, they hurt, but they are the ones causing the hurt. You hurt because others have been hurt, or could be hurt. You are a kind person.”

“Sometimes I wonder. It’s not often I’ve heard people say so.”

“Wine all over his shirt, acted instinctively, arm jerked forward as if to punch him, then back, stopping, never would. He looks at me and says that I am cold, cold? You’re an ass. Bitch, he hisses. Cloth tightening around my ribcage, restraining breath, questioning as he leaves. Hate this dress.” Cole shook his head. “He was wrong. You’re warm. Maybe too warm, for some people. Not me. Not him, either; he likes it, he misses the heat when you’re gone.”

Cassandra considered that over a spoonful of oatmeal. She remembered that occasion. It had been one of the few times that her work with Justinia had forced her into a dress. A nobleman had hit on her, and when she responded only with polite noises, trying to be so boring that he went away, he actually took it for interest. It hadn’t ended well. And she hated dresses.

This was Cole’s way of saying he liked her, she supposed. And if she didn’t miss her guess, that last part had been about Varric.

Cassandra swallowed her food and said, “If you can sense anything more about him, I’d rather you didn’t tell me. I intrude on his privacy enough as it is.”

“Oh, right. I’ll try not to, then.”

Lavellan ignored the existence of benches and sat on the ground in front of them with a bowl of her own. “Whose privacy are we invading?”

“Sun hits her smile and lights it up, could listen to her voice echoing past the mountains for hours, she touches my hand in the middle of the story and doesn’t even realize -”

“Alright, alright, point made, Cole.” Lavellan interrupted, red-faced. “I won’t pry.”

Cassandra smiled down at her oatmeal. Seemed like somebody had caught their Inquisitor’s eye.

“Not one word,” Lavellan said, brandishing her spoon. “Alright, Pentaghast?”

“I don’t even know who Cole was referring to,” Cassandra replied truthfully.

“Well. Good.”

-

The Western Approach was dusty and hot, and as Harding had warned, there was a rift waiting for them right around the first corner. Overall, it was not Cassandra’s favorite start to a day.

Cassandra held her shield up to block the attack of a rage demon while she pivoted on one foot to slice into a shade. She ducked at the last second to avoid a spurt of the demon’s black blood; had she not moved, it would have blinded her.

Yes, it was definitely that kind of day.

Solas paralyzed the rage demon with a flash of sparks beneath it, giving Cassandra the time she needed to shove it back and take care of the shade for good. She barely swung her shield up in time to catch a wraith’s attack, though the Inquisitor took the wraith out with some quick bursts of magic shortly after. Cole appeared out of thin air, with daggers in the air creating a haunting silhouette, and sliced the rage demon from behind. It ripped apart and sank to the ground in defeat.

Cassandra took the moment to breathe, but she heard a sound behind her and whipped around just before a terror took a swipe at her. The blow hit her shield at a bad angle, briefly turning the muscles in her arm to jelly as they shook under the force. Damn.

“One moment!” Lavellan shouted. She could hear the hum of the Anchor reverberating around them.

Cassandra used her sword minimally, buying time by focusing on defense. She felt a wraith’s attack whiz right past her leg from her three o’clock and she shuffled around, trying to put the terror between herself and the wraith while Solas fried another one, and another, with lightning. Cole was holding off another shade of his own, appearing in one place and then another to confuse it.

The terror shrieked, and it was as chilling as ever, but nothing new to Cassandra. She grit her teeth and held out, swiping weakly at it to ensure its attention didn’t stray to someone else. Lavellan had to be almost ready with her disruption.

“Got it!” Solas shouted, knocking out the only remaining wraith. The terror hit her again in anger, nearly knocking the sword from her hand. Cassandra tightened her grip on the hilt and managed to cut its leg.

The rift exploded outward, causing the demons to shrivel in response. Cassandra put all she had into a few quick stabs and a final lunge, and soon the terror fell with a shrill sound. With the Inquisitor’s help, Cole and Solas had already finished off the shade, and Lavellan was now wrapping her Anchor around the rift, pulling it shut.

There was that familiar breath of silence, when the rift’s humming ceased and the world went still, and then it shattered in Lavellan’s grip and disappeared from the world.

Cassandra leaned on her sword for a moment, catching her breath. She glared at the dead terror and kicked it with one boot.

“All good?” Lavellan asked, hopping down from the fence she’d been standing on.

Cole said, “Those always feel weird.”

“The rifts? Yes,” Cassandra remarked. She sheathed her sword and started walking. “I dislike this place already.”

“Inhospitable as it is, it remains one of the more interesting regions of Orlais,” Solas remarked. “It is said that there are Tevinter ruins all over the area, remnants of the wreckage of the second blight, but nobody has been able to approach most of them due to the toxic natural gas. Because of that gas, the only people out here are research teams and brigands.”

“Now I dislike it even more.”

The course they charted took them down a fairly well-trodden road, which seemed like cause for optimism until they found the leftovers of a research group which had been killed or abducted. Hyenas were gnawing on what remained, and attacked when the group got close. They didn’t take long to kill - Cassandra was able to cut the muscle on one’s leg, greatly easing the job of taking it down, and Lavellan and Solas shocked the other one hard enough that even after its death lightning sparked down its pelt for several moments.

“What were they doing out here?” Solas wondered, picking up a bag. “This belongs to… some man. A ‘Frederick.’”

Cole shuddered. “A long road, stumbling through the rocks, struck from behind.”

“Someone will pay for this,” Cassandra swore.

“They probably were just unfortunate, coming here at a time when they would… cross other paths,” said Lavellan.

Cole was looking out towards a cave. “Was it misfortune?” he asked.

Lavellan followed his gaze up the cliff. “Something in there? That’s a thought.”

“If they found something important in that cave, they may have been attacked for it,” Solas said. “We should look.” Cassandra and the Inquisitor were already ascending the hill towards the cave. Cole and Solas followed behind.

It was a short tunnel which eventually brought them to a small chamber. Cassandra saw the color glowing around the corner before anything else. She stopped and stared at the glow, almost afraid to move forward, frozen to the spot as Lavellan continued into the cave.

Solas walked past her with a brief, concerned glance. Cole gave her a little bit of a shove from behind as he passed. “You already know you can be okay,” he said quietly.

That was true. Just the previous night she had learned that her resistance to the red lyrium would keep her from danger, at least for a while. And Maker’s breath, it was hardly her first encounter with it. She’d watched Varric shatter spears of red lyrium in the Hinterlands, guarded by zealous mages or overconfident templars under the erroneous impression that occupying those infested places was a good idea.

She willed herself forward step-by-step, until she was standing in the center of the chamber, surrounded by spikes of red lyrium.

There was no lure, no pull. No whispers in her head, no clouding of her vision. She looked down at her hands and they did not glow. It was not part of her. It didn’t call to her. Nothing sang. She couldn’t even think of the song.

She was safe.

Lavellan hadn’t noticed a thing. Her attention had been attracted quickly by a letter lying on a nearby table.

“I think we know one reason those researchers were attacked,” Solas commented.

“For this? They hurt people for _this_?”

“Yes, Cole,” Cassandra said quietly. “To them, it is a tool worth more than any life.”

“And that’s one of many reasons we will stop them,” the Inquisitor said, crumpling the letter she’d found in one hand. She looked back at the red lyrium. “We ought to destroy it before the red templars come to collect. Should have brought Varric, he loves doing that.”

In a practiced move Lavellan pulled her staff out, preparing to fire off a shot of lightning. Cassandra stepped forward without thinking. “Stop.”

Lavellan halted, loosening her grip on her staff. “Cassandra?”

The words came to her slowly, filtered through what she did and didn’t want Lavellan to know. She could feel Cole and Solas watching her, knowing what was going on. “It… Please. May I? It… It would be… satisfying.”

Cassandra held Lavellan’s eyes for a long moment. Whatever Lavellan saw in her gaze turned out to be enough. She tucked her staff away again and waved to the lyrium. “Be my guest,” she said. Though the gesture was casual, Lavellan still kept Cassandra’s gaze. Cassandra received the message clearly: the Inquisitor would not push, but she wanted to know.

But not now. Cassandra looked away, facing the red lyrium. She unsheathed her sword and walked towards the lyrium, holding her shield in a relaxed position at her side.

She swung at it angrily, taking a chunk out with the first slice. It reminded her that the red lyrium _could_ be wounded, that it wasn’t just some impossible dream to imagine its annihilation. The blow broke whatever mental hold her memories had on her. A razor-thin smile crossed her face as she hit it again and again, until at last it shattered completely under the force of her blade.

Cassandra completed the job quickly, shattering another spike behind the first one, and smashing a few smaller spikes for good measure. By the time she was done, the red templars would find nothing useful here.

It was a good reminder. Fears could be destroyed.

Looking up from the remains of the lyrium, Cassandra observed her companions’ reactions. Lavellan was a sharp, focused observer, and her eyes were steadily set on the shattered lyrium. No doubt she was trying to puzzle out why this meant so much to Cassandra. Cole was smiling at her under the brim of his hat, clearly pleased. Even Solas was smiling at her, proud of her in his own way.

“Let’s go,” Cassandra suggested. “We won’t find the Wardens by standing here.”

“You don’t know. They might come to us,” said Cole.

The Inquisitor laughed. “Maybe, but Hawke and Alistair are out there, and it’d be rude to keep them waiting. Come on.”

Cassandra hung back for a moment, and Solas with her. He seemed to have something to say.

“It’s known as era’durgen,” he confided quietly.

“That’s what the elves call it?”

“Call lyrium, yes. Like many words, it is formed of simpler, smaller words. An oversimplified translation would be dream rock, in this case.”

“An apt name.”

“Yes. The word ‘era’ has other implications besides that of dreams. It can mean stories, fables. Fictions. It is meant as a warning. Era’durgen brings wonders to those who take it, but those wonders are falsehoods. In your case, I’m not so sure that such an interpretation applies, but… I thought it would interest you to know.”

“It does,” Cassandra replied truthfully. It was interesting to see lyrium from the perspective of another culture, even briefly. Elves had no templars, and few mages. It made their relationship to lyrium unique. “Solas, may I speak with you later? I want to know more about the Fade.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The word "era'durgen" is [glitteringworlds](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Glitteringworlds/pseuds/Glitteringworlds)' brainchild, though the extended interpretation about it is my own.


	7. Chapter 7

The trail led them to the edge of a deep canyon. A dragon flew overhead, landing on a bridge of rock spanning the width of the canyon far above. Boulders tumbled down where its claws marked the rock. It flew off again after a moment, and their view of it was soon blocked by dust in the wind.

“I _really_ dislike this place,” Cassandra said again.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Lavellan replied, staring with a wide grin at the spot where the rocks had fallen. “It’s growing on me.”

“That’s because you have the Iron Bull’s attitude when it comes to large creatures that could pick you up and snap your neck in minutes,” said Solas.

“Tel’abelas,” Lavellan replied cheerfully. Cassandra didn’t know what that meant, but whatever it was, it soured Solas’ expression even further.

Their wanderings took them far. They were assaulted by beasts on a regular basis, usually the arid cousins of wyverns, such as phoenixes and quillbacks. There were strange markers on the trail, and across the canyon, there were myriad ruins and buildings. Then, at the end of the valley, the toxic gas rising from beneath was so thick that they could not continue forward.

“The air hurts,” Cole said with a choked voice. “I need to stop.”

“We could do something about this,” Lavellan said between coughs. “Someone at Skyhold should have an answer. I’ll talk to Cullen about it later.”

Cassandra coughed. “Are Hawke and Alistair beyond here?”

“If we couldn’t get through it, I can’t imagine they would have,” Solas replied.

“My mistake.”

“We have to double-back down the other side of the canyon, through that little path there,” Lavellan said, pointing almost back the way they had come. “They’ll be waiting for us somewhere between the Giant’s Staircase and the tower where the Wardens will be.”

“The Giant’s Staircase?” Solas asked.

“The scouts said it’d be a ruined structure on our right.”

Cassandra coughed again, grimacing. “Maybe we could take a breather first?”

“Yes, please,” said Cole.

Solas caught Lavellan’s eye for a moment, then turned to Cole. “Cole, may I ask you a few questions?”

“You have many questions,” Cole observed, but that was all Cassandra heard of the conversation before Solas tactfully led him away.

Lavellan took a deep breath and approached Cassandra. “Are you okay?”

“I will be,” Cassandra said. There was still slight burning in her throat, though it was fading. “Whoever finds a way to fix this gas will deserve a great deal of hazard pay.”

“We’ll make sure they get it.” She hesitated on the precipice of a question. “Cassandra...”

“Yes?”

“I trust you. You’ve always had my back. But for being the most straight-forward person I know, you… You seem to have a lot of secrets.”

Cassandra sighed. She had thought this might come up. “I…”

“You dont have to defend yourself, I just - I don’t know. Back there, Solas knew, didn’t he? Cole doesn’t come as a surprise, but… I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt, just a little, that whatever bothered you back there with the red lyrium was known to him, and not to me. And even before that, you and Cole have been cryptic this entire trip.”

“It may comfort you to know that Solas is the _only_ one I’ve told about… that,” Cassandra replied. “A small comfort, but…”

“No, it does help. And I shouldn’t be jealous just because it turns out you have other friends.”

“You have a right to be concerned, Inquisitor,” Cassandra said simply. “To you, my secrets are unpredictabilities in the field. I… I’m sorry. I cannot tell you everything. One secret is not so much mine as it is the Seekers’. The other… Though it is mine, if I were to tell someone, I would owe it to another to tell them first. Until I have done that, I cannot share it with you.”

Lavellan slowly nodded her head. “Thank you. Those are… they’re good reasons.”

“I might be able to explain one part,” Cassandra said. “The details must remain a secret, but I’m sure you wondered about that discussion I had with Cole about Faith.”

“What, the one with mentions of a ritual, being ‘spirit-touched’, and blood? No, that didn’t concern me at all,” Lavellan said dryly.

Cassandra gave her a half-smile. “It was part of becoming a Seeker. There is a vigil which calls a spirit to you. That is how I received many of my abilities.”

“So what was Cole saying?”

“The spirit that came to me was a being of Faith. For years I wondered whether my faith was my own, or something the spirit gave to me. Then, the way Cole said it when he first mentioned that I was spirit-touched, I thought he was confirming my fears.”

“But he wasn’t,” Lavellan said, putting the pieces together. “It came because of your faith, not to give you faith that was lacking.”

“Exactly.”

The Inquisitor smiled. “That’s wonderful, Cassandra. I’m sure it must mean a lot to you.”

“It does,” Cassandra said, smiling back. "I hope you don't think that you cannot trust me, or that I cannot trust you. Neither of those things are true."

“I know, I just wanted to be sure. Thank you, Cassandra. Are you ready to leave?”

Cassandra stretched her arms out. “As I’ll ever be.” She envied the others. Because she fought with a sword and a shield, she placed herself directly on the front lines during battle. Her armor was, by necessity, far heavier than the armor worn by Cole, a light-footed rogue, or Solas and the Inquisitor, who as mages were supposed to stay farther from the battle (not that anyone dared tell Lavellan that). It was too damn hot out for full armor.

Cole and Solas were waiting for them by the road Lavellan had pointed out.

“…It’s not her after all. Rows of teeth closing in, running but it runs behind me, chasing me, closer, it’ll swallow me whole.”

“She was saved, you know.”

“But the old woman wasn’t,” Cole replied, a little distraught.

“Are we good to go?” Lavellan asked.

Solas nodded in their direction. “I didn’t realize it until now, but we’re headed towards that structure I saw far across the canyon, aren’t we?"

“Yes, that’s the one. Though there will be a little detour before we finally get to go there.”

Cassandra looked past Solas. She could see no structures from here. Perhaps they were visible from the top of the hill. What she _could_ see was a tear in the sky. Another rift. And if she was not mistaken, there was another faint glow of green even farther behind that one. She reminded herself that she was far too professional for complaints, and settled on frowning instead.

"Just the first one, not the second,” the Inquisitor said, picking up on the direction of Cassandra’s gaze. “Though, we’ll have to come back and get the other one some time, no doubt.”

Solas sighed. "It really is inconvenient that you're the only one who can close those tears."

"You're telling me. We'll get this one over with."

The walk to the rift took a little while; it was farther away than it had seemed at first. They were surprised when they found the rift already active, with the demons it spat out focusing on a pair of warriors to their right.

Cole said, "She uses the idol to bend the statues to her will, swinging my sword up -"

"That's Hawke and her friend," Cassandra interrupted, shield on her arm and halfway through unsheathing her sword.

"Damn," Lavellan swore, breaking into a sprint. She called forth bolts of lightning as she ran, buying them time to get to Hawke and the Warden.

The six of them together were more than enough to take the demons down. While Cassandra lent her sword to their aid, Cole herded the shades around them, and Lavellan and Solas swept up the wraiths on the peripherals with no trouble.

There was a short break between waves. Hawke wiped some demon blood off her greatsword with one hand and smiled at Cassandra. "Hello, again. Your timing is great."

Cassandra smiled back nervously. "It's not over yet."

"I know, I've fought a couple of these into submission. Never could fully close them though -"

The rift shuddered and spat out more demons. Hawke snapped back into action, catching one by the hilt of her sword and kicking it back into the ground. The Warden and Cassandra separated out a pair of demons as well, preparing for the rage demon headed their way.

"Can you maybe not flirt in the middle of battle?" The Warden shouted at Hawke. Wait, what?

"It's not like I mean anything by it, I'm already taken -"

"Not the point!"

It wasn't long before all the small enemies had been taken out. Hawke was a slightly reckless fighter who chose to let the more defensive fighters handle her defense while she struck with heavy blows. Varric had described her fighting style accurately. Slightly amused, Cassandra matched her style to Hawke's, ensuring that she could fully focus on offense.

With that in mind the rage demon fell very, very quickly. As soon as it was down Lavellan reached out to close the rift, and the streak of green magic across the sky startled the pair of newcomers into staring at it.

The humming grew louder, rose to a peak, stilled the world, and then the rift crashed in on itself and dissipated just like the last one.

Hawke whistled lowly.

"Thought you might enjoy that," Lavellan remarked as she walked over to them.

"You weren't wrong. Thanks for the save."

"I'm sure you would have done fine on your own. This was more fun, of course."

"Does Varric have a name for you yet? I bet it's Sparky."

"No, that's too close to Sparkler, and that's Dorian. Sorry I didn't bring Varric this time."

Hawke waved it away. "Don't be ridiculous. He'd be griping so badly about the heat and the sand that I'd throw him down the canyon myself."

The Warden shook his head. "Of course. We couldn't have _both_ of you whingeing about the environment."

"Oh, right, introductions," Hawke replied, ignoring him. "Hello there, kid, mage. I'm Hawke. You probably know of me, I'm famous. This is Alistair, he's famous too."

Alistair sighed. "You can call me Alistair, or address me as Warden. Either way."

" _That_ Alistair?" Cassandra asked.

He made a face like he'd bit into a lemon. "Yes, yes. That one."

"Forgive me, I'm sure you get that all the time," Cassandra said, embarrassed by her lack of forethought. "I am Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast, a commander of the Inquisition," she said, holding out a hand, "And seeing as I, too, hate it when people bring up my brave deed from over a decade ago, I should have known better."

Alistair cracked a smile as he shook her hand. "Right, what was yours? Something about dragons in Val Royeaux? Nice to meet you."

Solas stepped up next. "I'm Solas, an apostate mage of the Inquisition with particular expertise relating to the Fade."

"That could come in handy," Hawke remarked as she shook his hand. Alistair shook Solas' hand with a respectful nod.

"My name's Cole," Cole said. "I'm a spirit."

"You're a what?" Hawke asked.

"I help people."

"Like, a person with a spirit inside them, or something?" Alistair asked.

"No. You, you're thinking of the angry mage," Cole said to Hawke, and to Alistair, "and you're talking about the woman from the Circle. Those are more like half-spirits, I'm a spirit-spirit."

Hawke was slightly pale. "How...?"

"Cole does that," Lavellan interrupted. "You kind of get used to trips being a bonding experience around him. We're still teaching him the concept of privacy."

Alistair rubbed the back of his neck. "Huh. Okay, then."

"Strange company you keep, Inquisitor," Hawke said, still a bit on edge.

"What, you haven't kept stranger?"

Hawke laughed, relaxing. "You've got me there."

"We should get to business," Solas suggested.

"Right." Alistair frowned. "The tower is up this short hill and dead ahead. The Wardens are there, doing... Whatever it is they're doing. We’ve seen lights coming out of it. Not a good sign."

“Magic,” Hawke added grimly. "I was thinking you could take point and I’d guard your backs. The only entrance is across a long bridge, so that’s the best I’ve got."

Lavellan crossed her arms. "Sounds good to me. I don't think any of us were planning on a great deal of subtlety. We could just knock on the front door using that plan."

"I don't think they have a door," said Cole.

"Not a real one, Cole. I meant we shouldn't bother sneaking around or anything. Especially if the tower is only accessible from one direction, anyway."

"I think it was supposed to be an outpost for Griffon Wing Keep, a fortress in the north," said Alistair. "A lookout spot that would be easily defensible."

The Inquisitor nodded. "So, we storm in recklessly, question any rude people, and figure out what's going on? Fight the Wardens if we have to, spare them if we can? All agreed?"

Cassandra wished she could think of anything better, but she couldn't, so she said, "Agreed." Solas caught her eyes and shook his head ever so slightly, probably thinking along the same lines.

"Let's go," Lavellan said. Hawke was quick on her heels, and Solas right behind them. Cassandra followed Solas, and to her surprise, Alistair hung at the back with Cole. She overheard their conversation with mild interest, and maybe a little bit of concern on Cole's behalf.

"So... How do you do that? How did you know about Wynne?"

"I can sense things that hurt. You miss her, and, you were thinking of her when I said I was a spirit, so I could see her."

"Things that hurt. _Anything_ that hurts?"

"I know the death call, yes, and her too. She doesn't want you to end, so she's looking. I hope she finds it. She's doing it for you."

"I know," Alistair replied. His tone was quiet, awed. Maybe Cole was talking about the Hero of Ferelden, to make him say it in that way. Maybe the rumors were true. "If you can tell that much, can you tell if she's okay?"

"Resting now, tired, dirty, the ringing never stops. Saw a stream to the east, maybe there. Sun warm on my skin, wish he was here."

"Thank you," Alistair said. His tone was as awed as hers when Cole had told her about the Faith spirit.

Cassandra moved ahead, out of earshot. This conversation was not meant for her ears, and by the sound of it, Cole would be fine.

Up ahead, Lavellan and Hawke were chatting.

"You've _never_ read the Tale of the Champion? Or heard my story?"

"Until I went to the conclave, I had only rarely interacted with those outside my clan. I had heard your name before, but little else. It was hard to miss the mage rebellion, but names weren't really named."

"So you know it all from Varric, then?"

"He and Cassandra filled me in, yes."

"Cassandra? Really?"

"Oh, yes," Lavellan said, grinning. "I've heard she's quite the fan."

"Inquisitor, please," Cassandra said.

"Oh! Didn't see you there, Cassandra."

"You're a fan?" Hawke asked. "You never said. I'm honored."

"I’m not - I just - You seem so dismissive of your fame that I thought it best not to mention I had heard of you."

"There are all kinds of fans," Hawke remarked. “Suck-ups, for example. Hate those. Politicians who think I’ll back them because their platform sounds like what they think I’d like. Kids - kids are probably my favorite. And then,” Hawke said with a sidelong look and smile, “there’s the precious few who genuinely admire me enough to hide it when we first meet. It’s very sweet.”

“I am sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cassandra said, hoping she wasn’t blushing. This was painfully embarrassing. Perhaps she should have expected, with Hawke and Varric as thick as thieves, that Hawke would be the type who liked teasing her, as well.

Lavellan said, “Hawke, please don’t break Cassandra. I need her to be able to perform her duties.”

“Alright, I’ll drop it. Sorry, Cassandra. It’s just funny to me that you’re exactly how Varric described you.”

“I have thought the same of you,” Cassandra replied dryly. “Although, you _are_ taller than I had imagined.”

“Really? Most people expect me to be shorter.”

“Time to cut the chatter, I think,” said the Inquisitor. They’d reached the bridge which led over the tower. Alistair and Cole caught up with the rest of the group in a moment.

“This is where I take my leave,” said Hawke said with a small frown. “Get in there and stop them before more people are hurt.”

Lavellan nodded to her and waved Alistair to her side. Cassandra lined up to walk in beside Solas and Cole.

Up ahead, she saw lights. “This is wrong!” she heard faintly, but shortly after there was a burst of green light, and then a dimmer shine of red. Past the Inquisitor’s head, Cassandra saw a rage demon rise where a Warden had once stood.

This was going to be ugly.

The Inquisitor and Alistair approached the center of the ritual tower, and Cassandra laid eyes on the man who was clearly in charge.

“Inquisitor, what an unexpected pleasure,” the man exclaimed. He gave a very dramatic bow, putting a bad taste in Cassandra’s mouth already. “Lord Livius Erimond of Vyrantium, at your service.”

“I’m guessing you’re _not_ a Warden,” said Alistair.

“But you are,” Erimond replied. He sighed with frustration, swaggering over his makeshift stage as though he had nothing to fear. “The one Clarel let slip. And you found the Inquisitor and came to stop me. Shall we see how that goes?”

Lavellan stepped forward in righteous fury. “Wardens!” she called. “This man is lying to you. He serves an ancient Tevinter magister who wants to unleash a Blight!”

“No good,” Solas muttered. Cassandra glanced at him, questioning.

“That’s a very serious accusation,” said Erimond. “Let’s see what the Wardens think. Wardens, hands up.”

Every Warden still alive in the tower raised their hand in unison with Erimond’s own. The red glow of their eyes reminded Cassandra hauntingly of red lyrium. Cassandra suppressed a chill.

Now she understood Solas’ mutterings. These Wardens were beyond anyone’s reach.

“Hands down,” Erimond finished, lowering his arm. They followed.

“Corypheus has enslaved them,” Alistair said. He sounded furious, and Cassandra would not wish to be Erimond at the moment.

“They did this to themselves. You see, the Calling had the Wardens terrified. They looked _everywhere_ for help.”

“Including Tevinter.”

“Yes. And since it was my master who put the Calling into their little heads, we in the Venatori were prepared.” Erimond put his hand to his chin in fake contemplation. “I went to Clarel full of sympathy, and together, we came up with a plan…”

It was as they had suspected. How kind of Erimond, Cassandra thought to herself, to fill in all the holes for them in one dramatic speech. It was a quality she appreciated in someone she hoped she would have the chance to kill.

“Raise a demon army, march into the Deep Roads, and kill the Old Gods before they wake,” Erimond finished.

Lavellan’s voice was grim. “So you manipulated the Wardens to build an army of demons for Corypheus.”

“Just so. Sadly for the Wardens, the binding ritual I taught their mages has a side effect. They’re now my master’s slaves. This was a test. Once the rest of the Wardens complete the ritual, the army will conquer Thedas.”

Lavellan lifted her chin in defiance. “Release the Wardens from the binding and surrender. I won’t ask twice.” Cassandra couldn’t help but approve. She put her hand on the hilt of her sword in readiness.

Erimond looked triumphant. “No, you won’t.”

He reached out with some form of magic, wisps of red flying around his fingertips. Lavellan collapsed to her knees, clutching the glowing Anchor on her hand, right before Cassandra’s eyes.

Cassandra started, but Solas quietly put a hand on her arm. He was staring intently at Lavellan, perhaps sensing magics at play which she could not. Cassandra trusted Solas’ instincts and waited.

Yet again, Erimond would not shut up. “The Elder One showed me how to deal with you in the event that you were foolish enough to interfere again.” He clenched his fist. “That mark you bear? The Anchor that lets you pass safely through the Veil? You stole that from my master. He’s been forced to seek other ways to access the Fade.”

The Inquisitor started rising to her feet, enduring the pain. Cassandra watched her with awe as she wordlessly took control. The pose she assumed was familiar to Cassandra, and she prepared for the fight to come.

“When I bring him your head,” Erimond continued, “his gratitude will be-”

Lavellan lifted her hand and _pulled_.

The magic backfired on Erimond. With a scream he flinched backward, clutching at his middle. “Kill them!” he snarled.

Sadly, Cassandra didn’t have time to savor Erimond’s undignified retreat. She unsheathed her sword in unison with Alistair and charged the closest enslaved Warden. She would leave the demons to Alistair. It was the least she could do.

She and Solas ganged up on him; perhaps they both intended to spare the others the heartache. Alistair had control of the rage demon and Cole had the shades under control, though as usual, he never did stay on one target for more than a few moments. Lavellan was also a wild element, sporadically attacking where she saw her spells could help.

The fight was easy. They’d fought harder packs of phoenixes on the way here. Cassandra nearly felt ill just thinking about it. By the time the fight was over, they’d added more bodies to the Wardens’ death count.

So much death. They believed they were dying, and it led to this. She was angry at them. She was sorrowful for them. She mourned them. The Wardens’ cause was noble, and they deserved better than their blood still wet on the tiles of this cursed place.

The threat of death was a cruel motivator.

Hawke had, at some point, joined their little party from the back.

“You were right,” Alistair said to her as he put his shield away. “Thanks to the ritual, the Warden mages are enslaved to Corypheus.”

Hawke asked, “And the Warden warriors? ...Of course. Sacrificed in the ritual,” Hawke answered herself. “What a waste.”

“Erimond tricked them,” Lavellan said bitterly. “They thought they could prevent all future Blights. ”

“And so they killed themselves for a lie,” Hawke muttered.

“They made a mistake,” Alistair argued. “They thought it was necessary.”

Hawke raised a hand to her forehead. “Sorry, Alistair, that was callous of me. Desperation drives people to things they would normally never consider. I’ve been guilty of it myself. I just can’t help but think of the people who will be hurt because of the Wardens’ folly.” She sighed. “In the end, we are not the only ones who suffer from our mistakes.”

“So I hope to bring some justice to ours,” Alistair said. “Here’s a start: I may know where the Wardens fled to. Erimond fled that way.” He pointed out towards the north. “There’s an abandoned Warden fortress in that direction. Adamant.”

“Good thinking,” Lavellan said. “A fortress of their own, unused? Of course the Wardens would shack up there in a time of need.”

“Alistair, how about you and I scout it out?” Hawke suggested. “We can make sure that the Wardens are there, then report to Skyhold.”

“That sounds fine to me.”

The Inquisitor nodded. “Then that’s what we’ll do. Be careful out there.”

“Same to you, Inquisitor, same to you.” Alistair nodded.

“See you later,” Hawke said with a slight smile and a wave. “Tell Varric I said he should shave all his chest hair.”

Lavellan replied, “Come back and tell him yourself!”

After a moment, Lavellan spun around. “Let’s get out of here,” she said with a tired smile. “There’s nothing more to be done here right now.”

“He lied,” Cole said, hugging himself. His expression was pained. “They thought he would lead them to purpose. He led them to die.”

Cassandra hesitated, but laid a hand on Cole’s shoulder. He was taller than her, though he so often faded into the background that she rarely noticed. Now, she did. “We’ll find him,” she promised. “We’ll make sure he can hurt others no longer.”

Cole bent his head. Perhaps, like her, he was all too aware that more would die first.

“It’ll be okay, Cole,” Lavellan said.

The walk back to camp was somber, but uneventful. The few beasts that attacked them were but a coda to the end of a very bad day.

“At least we have answers,” Solas said later that night. “We know more about the Venatori and their goals. We know how Corypheus intends to storm Thedas. We even know more about the Anchor. Erimond allowed his pride to lead his tongue astray.”

Cassandra could only give him a tired nod. The information was good, but it came at a cost. She wondered about their own purpose. If they, too, could be led so astray.

She prayed not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Tel'abelas" means "not sorry," courtesy elvish expert [glitteringworlds](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Glitteringworlds/pseuds/Glitteringworlds) again!


	8. Chapter 8

On the way back to Skyhold, Cassandra had a few dreams, but for the most part they were nothing new. The first night, she dreamed of Varric telling a story about Hawke, and very clearly missing her. The second night, she dreamed she was alone, lost, and praying. It reminded her that she and Varric had been in different sections when Lavellan found them in those dungeons. Something must have parted them. Cassandra wasn’t sure she wanted to know what.

When she woke up from that one, still dwelling in the lingering hopelessness, she left her tent. It was bright out under the full moon.

There was a campfire a little ways away from their tents, and a figure seated there. Solas, she thought. Why he was awake, she could not know, but she figured there was no point in trying to get back to sleep. She might as well join him.

Solas looked up at her without surprise when she stood by him.

“Do you mind?” she asked.

“Not at all,” he said. She sat down beside him, carefully avoiding a slightly muddy spot nearby.

They sat together in silence for a little while. Cassandra appreciated the warmth of the fire. In her dreams, the only real source of heat tended to be the red lyrium, radiating from within her. The fire’s warmth was different, and it came from beyond her. It felt real to her, like it could burn away the memories, given enough time.

“Dreams?” Solas asked after a little while.

“Yes,” said Cassandra. “That one must have been shortly before Lavellan and Dorian finally showed up. I had… I was not doing so well.”

“I see.”

“What about you?”

“A nightmare as well,” he replied. “Though, perhaps not so much a nightmare as too much dwelling on things I can neither change nor control.”

“Sometimes, that can be just as bad,” Cassandra replied. “There is an entire section of the Chant of Light, in the Canticle of Trials, dedicated to accepting one’s own limitations and aiming to exceed them anyway. Yet, I meet so few who do not come up against that struggle. Such acceptance does not come easily. Even Most Holy herself once confessed to me how little she felt she could truly do with all the blood being shed between mages and templars.”

“And despite that, she came closer than any to resolving the issues between mages and templars. Had fate not intervened, she may even have succeeded.” Solas nodded in understanding. “Thank you. That is a somewhat comforting thought.”

“I hoped it might be, even if you are not of the Andrastian faith.”

“One needs no faith to understand that Justinia was a kind woman who accomplished much. Truthfully, if someone needed to understand that, I believe they would only have to meet you.”

Cassandra flushed slightly, unsure how to take his words.

Solas caught her reaction and looked away. “I… did not intend to imply anything by that,” he said slowly, awkwardly. “I am only saying that I respect you greatly, Cassandra. You clearly thought very highly of the Divine, and that tells me more about Justinia’s kindness than I would ever get out of more sycophantic members of the Chantry.”

Relaxing, Cassandra saw his point. “You do not think highly of the Chantry,” she noted.

“Apostates generally don’t.”

“No, but many still hold some lingering respect for it, in theory. Perhaps not elves, but nevertheless.”

“I can respect the work it has done for people. It has given many hope. But it has also been the cause of untold atrocities. And I truly mean it when I say they are untold - they are miseries I only know because I have seen them myself, in the Fade.”

“The Chantry is flawed, but I still believe in the good it can do. The good that it does.”

“It shows.”

They lapsed into a peaceable silence for a moment.

“You wanted to talk to me about the Fade, didn’t you?”

Cassandra had almost forgotten. “Yes, that’s right, I did.”

“What about it?”

“I suppose… its structure. How it functions. It is hard for me to imagine. I only know it through dreams. I find it hard to picture it as an entire realm.”

“Hmm. The Fade is… unique,” Solas replied. “Nothing can be said about it, not for certain. For example, I could tell you that gravity exists in the Fade, but that wouldn’t quite be accurate. Gravity exists in _much_ of the Fade, but not all, and it does not always abide by the same laws.”

“How so?”

“The Fade is made up of ideas, represented by symbols. The trick to navigating it is understanding what those symbols are, and how you can interact with them. Gravity is not true gravity, but a symbol of gravity, which acts in accordance with concepts related to gravity, such as up and down, sky and ground.”

Cassandra crossed her arms. “I have no idea what that means.”

“Think of it this way. There is a path before you, a road which will lead you somewhere, by its very nature. Though paths with no purpose exist in the real world, all paths are the means from one thing to another in the Fade. Now, how would gravity interact with this path?”

“I… suppose it would have gravity,” Cassandra said slowly. “Most paths do. If it symbolizes the very physical concept of a path, then you should be able to - well, walk it.”

“You’re right. But how would that gravity work? It would pull you to the ground, correct? The thing is, the path isn’t necessarily straight. And because this is the Fade, there is no one universal gravity, pulling you down. Gravity exists for the path you believe you are on. So paths may intersect in space, one upside down and the other right-side up, and if one focuses, one may step from one to the other simply by realizing that they are stepping upon a new path. One flips.”

Cassandra closed her eyes, trying to picture it. She could see it, but only just. She opened her eyes again, shaking her head. “You’ve just taught me a fundamental step towards understanding the Fade, haven’t you? Something Circle mages learn when they’re still children, I’m sure.”

Solas smiled, so she knew he was laughing at her. “Most likely,” he said. “I have never been in a Circle.”

“Maker help me,” Cassandra groaned. “I’m having trouble with just the idea of _walking_ in the Fade. In the Fade, I would be helpless as a kitten.”

“I wouldn’t say so. The walking may confound you, but that’s a matter of experience and practice. It’s actually more important that you understood the symbol of the path very quickly. You have an instinct for the meaning of a thing which would serve you well in understanding the ways of the Fade. In theory. You cannot trust your senses in the Fade. For true realization, you must think a step beyond what you sense, and then you will understand.”

Cassandra thought on that for a moment, allowing the conversation to slip again into silence.

“If that’s so, then what does it mean when you say my memories from the other timeline are _in_ the Fade? How can they physically be there?”

“I don’t know how they came to be there. As I think I’ve said before, it could be something to do with the red lyrium. Or with the Inquisitor’s memories. Perhaps even her Anchor is the cause.”

“Yes, but how are they there? If everything is just concepts, why do they have a… a place?”

“Ah, I think I see your meaning. You mean to ask _where_ they are in the Fade.”

“Something like that, yes.”

“Unless you suddenly develop the ability to become conscious in the Fade, we might never know exactly where they are, but the location of a concept or thing is determined by connection to other concepts and things. That imprint of the alternate future is probably near other things which are connected to it, or in the domain of a being which has taken interest in it.”

It was interesting, but also, a little mind-numbing to listen to. Talking with Solas was relaxing, and it was still dark out. She was warm and a little sleepy.

“Thank you, Solas,” she said. “I appreciate the lesson, and the talk.”

“It was no trouble. This has done me some good as well.”

Cassandra shuffled to her feet and smiled at Solas. “Try to get some rest. Goodnight.”

“Sleep well, Cassandra.”

In her tent, she threw a blanket over herself and fell asleep again with little trouble, hoping Solas could do the same.

-

She dreamed again on the way back, but of nothing new. Varric merely spoke to her in her sleep. In one dream, he told her a story about Merrill and an irate nobleman who didn’t like her in his garden. It must have been early in their imprisonment. Neither of them glowed red, after all.

In the other, they did, and they both told the stories, leaning on each other the only way they could.

-

They arrived at Skyhold in the dead of the night, shortly after a storm.

Solas went to find bed as soon as possible. Lavellan stuck around for a little bit, knowing there were probably a few important messages lying in wait for her.

“Get out of here, you two,” Lavellan said to them. “I’ll go to bed soon.”

Cassandra didn’t have the energy to argue. She bid Lavellan goodbye.

Cole didn’t seem to be in the mood for strangers; Cassandra had seen eyes glaze over him as they walked back through Skyhold. He was stuck fast to her side for some reason, and she didn’t mind his company, so she made no comment of it.

She decided she would visit her little desk in the smithy first, to see how much work she would have to tackle when morning came. There was a fair stack, she found, but nothing too unwieldy. Strange, there should have been a little more. Maybe Josephine or Leliana had taken some from her.

“Cassandra?” Cole said.

She nearly jumped. “Sorry, Cole, I forgot you were here,” she said, turning to face him.

“Okay. There’s a couple things I’d like to tell you,” he said.

“Go on,” she said, cautiously.

“The main hall. Before you go to your bed you should go there. I thought the one with questions would do it but she didn’t see anything but feet.”

The last part was too cryptic for her to comprehend, but the rest was clear. She would indulge him. “What’s the other thing?”

“It’s okay to feel what you’re feeling,” he said. “Don’t forget that. It’s important that you know it’s okay.”

Cassandra opened her mouth to reply, but said nothing. She closed it again.

“And it’s okay if it changes, and it’s okay if it changes things. You’ll remember, right?”

She wasn’t sure what he meant, not at all, but she would at least keep it in mind. “I’ll try,” she finally replied.

“Good,” he said. He turned to leave without any fanfare.

“See you later, Cole,” she called after him.

“That would be nice.”

She didn’t even hear him close the door.

With a little sigh, she took at look at the reports on her desk. Perhaps she could do something about them now, but she didn’t want to.

She did owe Cole. This wouldn’t be her repayment of that debt, but it was a good reminder that Cole had been kind to her before, and he would not send her somewhere for no reason. Perhaps on the way she could steal a midnight snack from the kitchen.

The walk to the main hall was quiet. There were guards on duty, but they were posted mainly on the walls, not inside the compound. Merchants had left, people were scarce, and the Herald’s Rest was closed.

She might have trudged through the main hall itself unaware if not for Cole’s warning. She opened the doors, thinking it was strange that they were closed, went inside, and looked around.

It didn’t take her long to find what Cole was talking about.

Varric was asleep at his desk. Cassandra lifted a hand to her face, before she could laugh, or shout, or anything. He looked completely peaceful in his sleep, and Cassandra felt a slight rush of affection.

“Maker,” Cassandra muttered, dropping her hand.

He must have been working on something important to have fallen asleep at his desk. She walked over quietly and couldn’t help but peek at what he was writing.

_Althea sprinted for the meager cover provided by a random stack of boxes. She watched the arrow fly overhead and cursed. How had the assassins known she’d be here? Why hadn’t she brought her bow? Why were there assassins being sent after her anyway? Could this have something to do with Blake’s disappearance?_

_“My Lady! This way!”_

_She looked over to the alley on her left. It was that thief again, Greg? Craig?_

_“You really think I’ll trust you?” she hissed._

_“Right about now, I’m the only chance you’ve got. Unless you’ve got another scum of the earth friend hanging around in the right place at the right time?”_

_Althea measured her chances. He was right. She watched the arrows for a moment, preparing, then darted out when she thought she stood a chance of not dying._

_She landed hard on her butt. Scowling, she rose to her feet and brushed the dirt off._

_“Oh, just ignore the blighted mud, Your Grace!” the thief shouted at her. She ran after him, furious._

_“What’s your name again? You’re so completely insignificant I had forgotten it!”_

_“Craig! With a C! Stands for ‘covering your ass!’”_

_“Ex_

That was all he had written. Cassandra looked away quickly upon finishing it - she hadn’t meant to read the entire thing. Apparently, Varric was working on another book. Why did she always get so attached to the stories he crafted, even in glimpses?

She knew she should probably wake him up. If he slept through to the morning, he would wake up with a nasty ache in his back, no doubt. Steeling herself, Cassandra shook him slightly. “Varric,” she called.

He came to after a moment, bleary eyed. “C...mmm...sandra?”

“You fell asleep while you were working,” she explained.

Varric rubbed his eyes. “Working?” Squinting, he looked at the paper on his desk. “Oh. Right.”

“You should probably get off to bed.”

“I what?”

“Get out of here and go to sleep, Varric.”

“Right, right.” He shook his head firmly, and afterward, seemed a little more conscious. “Did I really just… fall asleep here? What time is it?”

“The sun should come up in five or so hours.”

“Shit,” he mumbled. “Thanks for waking me.” He looked up at her suspiciously. “You’re being awfully kind about this.”

“You haven’t insulted me in many days,” Cassandra replied dryly. “I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt.”

“All I’m saying is I’m surprised. Could’ve sworn you’d just let me sleep here for the fun of it.”

She sighed with tired frustration and looked away, hoping if she did, he wouldn’t be able to accurately read her expression. She partially wanted to smile. “I am, surprisingly, capable of compassion towards those I do not hate. On occasion.”

He chuckled in a low voice. “So now we’ve got apology and compassion. Two whole feelings. You’re really moving up in the world, Seeker.”

“Don’t forget stabbing.”

“My mistake. I really am tired.”

“If it’s any consolation,” Cassandra said, “It wasn’t my idea to come here.”

“What?”

“I think Cole was worried about you. I think he implied he thought someone else would wake you up, but they didn’t see you.”

“The kid?” Varric said with a sleepy frown. “I’ll have to thank them in the morning. Or kill them. Dunno which.”

He yawned, and slowly got to his feet, collecting the papers on his desk. “Well, thanks for the wake up call. Nice to… Nice to know you got back from the Western Approach without, I don’t know, getting sliced open by a dragon or something.”

That time she did smile. It slipped past her before she could put a stop to it. The look on Varric’s face when he caught it fell somewhere between the highlight of her week and terrifying: he was halted, completely stunned, by a single genuine smile from her. If she’d been wondering whether Varric could someday feel about her similarly to the way he did in the alternate future, well, she now had her answer.

She quickly started heading out of the hall. Neither she nor he needed this right now. “Have a good night, Varric,” she called behind her, steadfastly refusing to be embarrassed. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you,” he said in return, after a moment of recovery.

Back in her room, Cassandra sunk into bed with a sigh.

It was simpler, she thought, to believe there was no chance for anything. Romance was messy; romance with Varric just sounded like a bad idea. The way they bickered and misinterpreted, there was so much room for disaster. But she also knew what could be if they got past all that, and it was hard to ignore that knowledge.

In the morning, she told herself. She could be more sensible about matters in the morning. It could wait until then.

She fell asleep.

-

Cassandra heard the creak of a distant door. It startled her to her feet. She heard Varric getting to his feet as well.

"Ready?" she asked.

"It might not be them."

"Let's hope it is."

There was a rattling at the door nearby, the one cutting their section of the dungeons off from the rest. In a moment, a young man walked through. He had a pair of daggers clipped to his back.

That was one.

"Food," he announced dully.

"Finally," said Varric. "I swear you bring us lunch an hour later every day just to fuck with us. Do you?"

The guard didn't bother replying. He leaned against the wall by Varric’s cell, trying to look intimidating, most likely.

"Where's your friend?" Cassandra asked. "Tall, dark, carries a big stick?"

The guard didn’t speak, but he glanced at Cassandra with slight surprise. Varric’s barb was by now a matter of custom, but Cassandra rarely spoke out as Varric did. (Coincidentally, it was Varric who had supplied her with the line.)

It put him off balance. A good start.

The door opened again briefly, and another man entered the room. He was the guard Cassandra had described, with a longsword strapped to his belt.

That meant the plan was on.

“Guardsman,” Cassandra called to the newcomer, “What’s on the menu today?”

“Rice.”

“No beans?”

Without replying, the guard moved to Cassandra’s cell with a dish in hand to give to her.

“Hey, stabby,” Varric said.

At first the guard with the daggers didn’t seem to realize Varric meant him. Then, he turned around. “What?”

“Your fly’s open.”

The guard turned away without looking, annoyed.

“Now, see, I’m just trying to do a guy a favor, and what do I get?” Varric said. “You tell a man he's got a wardrobe issue, you think he’d want to button -”

On the word button both Varric and Cassandra shoved hard against their cell doors. The already-weakened hinges fell apart instantly, and the bars clattered against each other, trapping the guard with the sword between them.

The man with the daggers tried to respond, but Varric kicked his legs out from under him swiftly. The man fell hard, hitting his head against the wall; he might have cracked it if he hadn’t been wearing a helmet. Varric swiftly unsheathed man’s daggers as he fell.

The guard trapped beneath the cell door was trying to reach for his sword, but Cassandra wasn’t about to let that happen. She kicked him at his waist, forcing him to bend over slightly, then shoved the iron bars back further. Varric moved out of the way, and when the guard stumbled, disoriented from the kick and the bars, Varric slit his throat.

The other guard had stumbled to his feet and charged Cassandra, perhaps assuming she would be easier to take unarmed. It was not her specialty, but she could hold out in hand-to-hand, for a little while, and because she was shorter than many of her enemies she had learned to be quick to dodge. The man could only land glancing blows at best, and it gave Varric the time he needed to take him out from behind, as well.

The man fell swiftly and Cassandra blew out a breath.

That had gone well. Maybe a little loud, but well.

Varric tossed her the sword. “You’re on red lyrium, and he thought he could take you out, just like that? Alexius needs to find a better recruiter.”

“He should have run for the alarm,” Cassandra replied. “Any ideas about armor?”

“Roguey here oughta fit you, though it might be a little lighter than you’re used to. No chance of dwarven armor anywhere nearby, huh?”

“No. Stay back and only take what strikes you can.”

“That’s as likely to happen as Antiva crowning you as their next Queen. Get your armor on.”

“Turn around,” Cassandra ordered.

“Do I have to –“

“Varric.”

He turned. “Cassandra, you know I’ll watch the door.”

She paused for a moment as she walked into her cell with the armor in hand. “I know, Varric. Sorry. I’m -”

“You’re in your tense, fighting, no-nonsense mode. I get it.”

“That doesn’t mean I should be rude.”

“Sure it does.”

Cassandra started putting on the rogue’s armor. It was a little tight on her, built for a flatter chest than hers, but it fit well enough. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“I’m holding you to that,” he replied. “I’m expecting something big. A basket of chocolates. Those rolls from that café in Val Royeaux on the Rue de la Mer. A meeting with your second cousin twice removed.”

“I have several of those, and none of them are the ruler of Nevarra,” Cassandra replied dryly. “I will get you the rolls instead.”

“I wanted the rolls more anyway.”

She stepped out of the cell as she was trying to strap on the gauntlets. The straps wouldn’t quite go tight enough to fit around her, and she threw the gauntlets away with a scowl.

She had only a little armor, and the fit would bother her, but it would have to do. It didn’t seem as though any of the guards had heard the scuffle from earlier, which was a blessing.

“Let’s go,” she said, unsheathing the longsword.

Varric flipped a dagger in his hand. “Right behind you.” He moved aside to allow her to pass, but caught her arm with one hand before she opened the door. “Cassandra…”

It was strange to be touched by hands which meant her no harm. Her breath caught slightly at the look on his face.

“Later,” she said.

“But –“

“What could you possibly tell me now that I don’t already know, Varric? What could you say that won’t make this harder?”

“Not that,” he replied. “If we go down, we go down together. Can you promise me that? You don’t sacrifice yourself for me, I don’t sacrifice myself for you. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t… considered the thought, a little. And I’m sure you have too. But think of the alternative. We’ll do better together if we concentrate on leaving without any of the fancy heroics. And – and neither of us will have to be alone.”

Cassandra took a deep breath. Varric… wasn’t wrong. On any account. They were both the sort of fools who might consider some kind of sacrifice, yes, but they were also both more sensible than to actually carry that sacrifice out. She hoped.

“Agreed,” Cassandra said. “We will both be free before the night’s end. We will breathe the air outside before the lyrium takes our lungs. And we will bring down the Maker’s wrath on the Elder One before we die. Together.”

“To the last,” Varric agreed with a wry smile.

Cassandra shoved open the door and went through it sword first. As they’d thought, there were no guards down this deep. Two or so months into their imprisonment, the number of guards on duty had sharply dropped, and once the red lyrium had infected them both, they began to see guards only twice a day when they dropped off food. They still did not know why.

Varric tilted his head towards the nearby doors. “Leliana?”

It seemed like they had the time. Cassandra nodded. They peeked through the doors. The first one held more cells, but there was nobody in them, and nothing of note. Not even a shield, Cassandra thought with a frown.

They peeked into the other cells. At first, they saw nothing, and turned to leave, but then Cassandra heard something: “Wait.”

Cassandra halted in her tracks and walked towards the cell at the farthest right.

It was Leliana, but she was barely recognizable. Her skin was grey and taut against the bones of her face, as though she had aged twenty years. From her seat on the cell floor, she stared at Cassandra with empty eyes.

“Maker,” Cassandra breathed.

“That bad?” Leliana asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, Nightingale, what have they done to you?” Varric murmured as he caught sight of her.

“Nothing pretty,” she said. “The red lyrium in the two of you may have been a kinder fate.”

“You… You aren’t surprised to see us this way,” Varric said, gesturing with a frown at his eyes.

Leliana sighed. “No, I am not. I was already aware.”

“ _Aware?_ ” Varric said, incredulous.

“I have sources inside Redcliffe. They are neither consistently able to help nor very powerful, but they have accomplished a few simple things. They have kept me informed, for one. They also extended the duration of your interrogations. You would have been dosed months ago if not for them.”

“And you?”

Leliana’s expression was grim. “Never mind me. I was the spymaster for the Inquisition; they were willing to interrogate me for longer. Then, recently, I tested positive for… an experiment of theirs. That is all you need know.”

“We need to get you out of here,” Cassandra interrupted.

“No, you do not.” Leliana took a deep breath. “It would take you longer than you have to free me of this cell. Guard-captain Septimus has the keys, and by the time you find him upstairs, _if_ you find him upstairs, you will already be under attack. You need to get out of here, and you need to do so with the information I give you.”

“We can’t just abandon you-”

“Outside these walls, you will not find freedom. You will find ruin.” Leliana shook her head. “The breach has widened and the rifts have spread. Throughout all of Orlais and Ferelden, perhaps farther, demons rule. The Elder One and his Venatori stormed the South with an army of demons somehow under his control. He slew Empress Celene and took power. Those who resist do so from the shadows. The Inquisition is one such group, though I am told they work out of southern Orlais now, in the Dales.”

Leliana looked up at them grimly. “This world is not beyond saving, not yet. But there will be no miracles here. There is only us. And if we are to have any chance of salvaging it, you must run for the Dales. Now.”

“You’re asking a lot of us,” Varric growled.

“I am only asking you to do what needs to be done. But yes, I am.”

Cassandra knelt and reached through the bars, hoping to touch her, to console her, _something_ , but Leliana flinched away. “Please don’t,” she said.

Cassandra dropped her hand, grabbing the bar instead. “We will find a way to free you, Leliana.”

“Seeker, you can’t be serious,” Varric said.

“She’s right. It’s impractical to - to tarry.”

“We can’t just -”

Cassandra turned to stare at him, calmly, levelly.

Varric swallowed hard, and looked at Leliana, who met him with a similar, harder gaze. “...What Cassandra said,” he said. “We’ll be back. And we’ll bring an army with us. Storm the front gate, put a blade in Alexius’ chest, the whole ball of wax.”

Leliana nodded. “Thank you. Go, now. Once you’re upstairs, they should have at least a few weapons stashed in a room on your left. Get out of here. Be - ” She hesitated on the words. “Be free to do as you wish.”

“Stay strong, Leliana,” Cassandra said as she turned to go.

“Luck be with you,” Leliana replied.

Cassandra wondered if she’d ever come to terms with the fact that she had walked away.


	9. Chapter 9

It was dawn when Cassandra woke up. She touched a hand to her face and felt tears there.

Oh, Leliana.

Lavellan’s actions made more sense now. For the week after Redcliffe, Lavellan had been wary of Leliana, and her report about Leliana in the future had been slightly vague, focusing on her resistance to the blight and her sacrifice at the end. She, too, had seen Leliana that way, buried beneath the weight of what was done to her, and had said little of it out of respect.

Cassandra pulled herself together. There was work ahead.

She began the day at her desk over the smithy, finishing up a summary of what had happened at the Western Approach for her own notes. She hoped that Alistair and Hawke would be back soon with good news. The sooner they could form a plan to pursue Lord Erimond, the better.

When she went to work on her reports, she found a little note on top.

_Took your suggestion. Surprisingly, not dead. Twisted my shoulder a bit once. All is well. - Cullen_

Cassandra laughed a little at the note. Sparring with the Iron Bull must have gone swimmingly. As he had no doubt intended it to do, the note cheered her up slightly. She appreciated it.

Perhaps it was time to check in with everyone a little more informally.

She started her rounds at the bar. As expected, the Iron Bull was in his usual spot.

“Seeker Cassandra!” he said with delight. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Tedium,” she replied. “I had hoped to check in with everyone, after returning from our trip.”

“Oh, I see how it is. Only come by when you need something.” He chuckled. “Me and the Chargers are all good. Been pretty boring without the Inquisitor running around, though. She tends to liven things up.”

“I’ll say so,” Cassandra said, smiling. “I’ll bet she hasn’t told you what we saw on our trip yet, has she?”

“You saw something?” The Iron Bull said, leaning forward, curious.

“Dragon,” Cassandra said. “Big, mostly red. She landed on a rock, down the canyon and far over our heads, then flew off. You would’ve liked it.”

The Iron Bull was grinning. “Oh, what I would have given to have seen that. You didn’t kill her, did you? Lavellan’s under strict orders not to go dragon-killing without me.”

“No. None of us were prepared for such an encounter, though I believe the Inquisitor may have considered it anyway. She was excited.”

“And you?”

“I’ve done enough dragon-killing for one life,” Cassandra said, shaking her head.

“No such thing!” the Iron Bull proclaimed, beaming. “Welcome back, and thanks for the update, even if you are no fun about it. I’ll just have to ask the Inquisitor for the details later.”

“You do that,” Cassandra replied.

Sera was nowhere to be found. She had left a note on her door, but all it said was her name and the word “BEES,” underlined twice. Cassandra decided she’d rather not know.

She found Cole upstairs, watching a cat lap at a bowl of water. She wondered briefly where he’d found the cat, and who was missing their bowl, but it probably wasn’t important.

“I’m shouting and shouting but no one will listen, I’ve shouted it too many times before,” he said, without looking up from the cat. “Hello.”

“Was that about you, or someone else, Cole?”

“Someone else. He has many stories.”

Varric, maybe? “How are you doing?”

“Tired? Thank you for coming to see me. The one with questions, the Inquisitor, she does that too.”

“Are you often up here?” Cassandra asked.

“Yes.”

“Most people don’t often come up this way, I don’t think,” Cassandra said. “Perhaps others would visit you if you told them politely that you liked to be up here, and liked their company.”

“They would?” Cole said, curious. “Oh. I’ll think about that.”

“Cole… When you sent me off to find Varric last night, you had to know - you had to know neither of us would just…” She couldn’t find the words for what she intended to say.

Cole shyly ducked his head beneath the brim of his hat. “So many suffer because they feel things about people and they don’t know how to be that way,” he said, a little haltingly. “Sometimes I have tried to make them see it but it backfires. They end up worse than they were before. I don’t know why. I don’t do that anymore, try to make them see. But I’ve watched. People get it right, sometimes, even if it looks like things are going all wrong. They just have to be together, and it goes okay. Or maybe it doesn’t go okay, but, it wasn’t supposed to. So I - I don’t interfere. But I watch.”

Cassandra leaned against the rail, thoughtful. She was beginning to figure out how Cole understood things, and she also knew he took no offense when somebody didn’t immediately reply to something he said.

“So you did not intend for that to become anything,” Cassandra reasoned, “but you _did_ intend to help Varric by waking him up, and anything that happened between us as a result would be… lucky? A bonus?”

“You’re not mad?” he asked, hopeful.

“Not in any significant amount, no.” Cassandra sighed. “Even if it is for my own good, or the good of others, I do not like being manipulated. Yet, I cannot blame you. I suppose if I had to hear the private heartbreak of each and every individual I met, I would feel the need to do at least something small about it, too. Just - warn me, next time?”

“Yesterday I couldn’t tell you. You would have run.”

“I would _not_ -” Cassandra cut herself off. After a moment of thought, ashamed, she said, “You’re right. I would not abandon Varric, but I would have sent someone else to wake him.”

“So I didn’t tell you.”

“I’m not so sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing,” Cassandra said with a sigh.

She lingered for a moment, deep in thought. After she saved the Divine in Val Royeaux, there were those who said she had the heart of a lion, or worse still, of a dragon. After all, those fanciful poets reasoned, only one with a heart of immense strength could have accomplished her deed. It was an act of immense courage.

How was it always the case that slaying a dragon was easier than… than what? Than admitting to wanting romance? She wasn’t ready for this. It was too much right now. Her dreams and her feelings were all tangled up, throwing her off-balance. If she tried a relationship with Varric right now, she suspected she would only end up scaring herself off. Cassandra did not do well with deep emotion, and she knew it.

At the same time, Cole had a point. Avoiding Varric would solve nothing.

Perhaps there was a third way through this mess. The part she couldn’t face up to was her affection for Varric. It was strange to her, unfamiliar, based off things both true and untrue. Rather than act upon it, or ignore it, perhaps the best thing to do was test the waters.

Right now, she was in a strange state with Varric. They seemed to be friends, but what did that mean? How did a friendship between Varric and Cassandra even function outside of imprisonment? Did she even know?

There. That was a solid goal. Maybe things would move forward from that point, and maybe they would not, but finding some solid ground in friendship had to be a good start. Of course, she had no idea how she was going to do that, but she could worry about that another time.

Cassandra looked back at Cole. He was petting the cat now, smiling; it buried its whiskers into his knee and sneezed. How had she ever thought Cole might mean anyone harm, again? She worried that his grasp on life was loose at best, but that was no crime, and he had been learning.

“Thank you. Please return that bowl to its owner when you’re done with it.”

“I can’t return the water.”

“I don’t think it will be missed. See you later.”

Cole smiled at her. “Yes, I’m here often.”

Cassandra exited to Skyhold’s ramparts with an amused smile.

Cullen was in his office talking with one of the Inquisition’s captains when she knocked and entered. He didn’t look her way and seemed absorbed by the conversation. Cassandra tried to slip away, but Cullen noticed her when she did, and held up a finger to indicate she should wait.

Cassandra crossed her arms and watched him, deciding that if she was going to wait, then she might as well give him a little inspection.

But if he was in pain, then he was an expert at hiding it. There was tension in his face, and she would bet that under that (hideous, not that she would tell him) fur his shoulders were high and tense as well, but that wasn’t unexpected from the man who commanded the Inquisition’s forces. He wasn’t pale or shaking and the rings under his eyes were no worse than those under hers. It seemed that no casual observer would ever be able to tell.

Cullen clearly held himself to the standards she would expect of herself, and her personal standards were very, very high.

The captain left the room with a sour look on his face, one that clearly meant he had been told something he didn’t want to hear. Cullen glared after him, undoubtedly annoyed in return by the captain’s attitude.

Then, he collected himself a little. “Some people just don’t know how to take an order to stand down,” he grumbled.

“Should I come back another time?”

“Actually, if you’re willing to delay pleasantries a little, I could really, really use a quick sparring match. Bad morning.”

Cassandra almost said something about having noticed, but thought the better of it. “Yes, I could do that.”

“Thank you. Down by your usual little spot?”

“Of course.”

“Let’s go,” he said. Cassandra turned and went out the way she came, leading him down to her favorite practice targets.

“Did you have a good trip?”

“The travel itself was alright,” Cassandra answered, “but our mission only led us to Venatori and dead Wardens.”

Cullen frowned. “I’m sure I’ll hear the details later, but that doesn’t sound good.”

“Let’s just say I’m glad to be back at Skyhold.”

“Yes, I imagine you are.”

Cassandra grabbed a pair of practice swords and tossed one at Cullen.

“I can’t remember,” he asked, “have we sparred before?”

“Once or twice at Haven, I think, but only for demonstration. I don’t think we’ve ever really put our hearts into it.”

Getting a feel for the weight of the sword, Cullen gave it a swing or two. “Right. I think you already know I’m not planning to hold back very much.”

Cassandra smiled at him, feeling a little competitive. “What, you think you have to warn me, like you think I cannot handle you at your best?”

He looked at her, surprised, then grinned fiercely. “I think you’ll need every advantage you can get.”

Instead of responding, Cassandra took a step back and lifted her sword in challenge. Cullen took the bait and made the first strike, and then it was on.

Once the battle had started, neither of them were smiling. They were taking it seriously, concentrating, meeting each other strike for strike. She could tell he was venting anger with this fight. His strikes were powerful; he hadn’t been joking when he had said he wouldn’t hold back much. Cassandra was able to match him with equal strength, armed with complete belief that she would win.

What impressed her was that though his strikes were strong, not a single step was out of place. Under the influence of the lyrium withdrawal she might have expected his thrusts to go wild, but they were completely disciplined to standard templar-style swordfighting.

It made the fight more interesting. There were some minor variances she had noticed while watching templars over the years, but the swordfighting learned by most Seekers was based on the same style. The main difference was that templars were particularly trained for combat with mages. While Seeker training covered such combat, it did not focus on it, and assumed a Seeker would come up against foes of any variety.

Perhaps that would be enough to give her a slight edge.

They fought in silence; neither of them were the kind who trash-talked during a duel. Cassandra took a step back, and then another, cornered by a couple of forward slashes in quick succession. Cullen smiled slightly.

Time to step this up a little, Cassandra thought.

She made a quick feint towards his right and then darted in, forcing Cullen to step back to avoid a sword point poking at his armor. Cassandra pressed forward, staying on the offense as much as she could without letting her guard slip. It almost did a few times, and Cullen took advantage of every opportunity he could find, one time nearly slicing Cassandra’s shoulder with a thrust she hit aside at the last moment.

Finally, something broke. One of Cullen’s parries was just off the mark, and Cassandra quickly slid her sword up and held the point at his neck.

“Concede,” she demanded, breathless.

For a moment, Cullen didn’t respond, but then he dropped the sword and grinned. “Well fought, Cassandra.”

Suddenly, Cassandra heard applause. She looked to her left and saw that a small crowd of onlookers had gathered. Unsure how to react to that, Cassandra wiped some sweat off her brow, staring.

“Alright, alright, show’s over,” Cullen said, sweeping his arms at the crowd. “Get back to work, and if you don’t have any, go find something else to do that isn’t here.”

Their audience grumbled or winked, but mostly went on their way after that.

“You seem to be in better spirits,” Cassandra murmured, approaching him.

“I had fun. You didn’t have fun?” he asked.

She shrugged, smiling a little. “I never said that.”

Though most of the crowd had dispersed, a few lingered, mainly those who knew the two of them well enough to disobey one of Cullen’s orders. Josephine, Varric, and the Iron Bull were all laughing about something, and Varric had a couple of silvers in one hand.

Cassandra put her sword down, sighing, and approached them. “Please tell me you weren’t betting on that,” she pleaded.

“Okay, I won’t tell you,” Varric replied, grinning.

“Ugh.”

“Don’t be _too_ displeased with Varric,” Josephine suggested, giggling and taking the coins out of Varric's hands. “He made sure any and all betting happened in an orderly, well-arranged fashion, and that those who bet would be held to their debts.”

“She’s only happy because I lost a couple silvers to her,” the Iron Bull grumbled.

Cullen approached, relaxed and amused.  “So you bet on me. Considering how you’ve tossed me around lately I’ll take that as quite the compliment. And Josephine bet on Cassandra… So who did you bet on, Varric?”

“Now, now, Curly. I couldn’t bet! I was the fair arbiter in all this, nothing more.”

“He was afraid he’d get walloped by whomever he chose not to bet on,” Josephine teased.

Varric frowned. “You wound me, Ruffles, you really do.”

“Well, at least you all enjoyed the show,” Cullen remarked, shaking his head.

The Iron Bull laughed. “Oh, we _did_.”

“Actually, it wasn’t just us,” Josephine said. “Leliana watched from a window, and Vivienne was out on her balcony. Blackwall was also here a moment ago, but he left with the others. He was only here for the fighting, I think.”

“And you three were here for something else?” Cassandra asked.

“Yes,” Varric said immediately. “Poking fun at your face when you realized you had a bunch of admirers.”

Cassandra raised her eyebrows, but didn’t quite dare point out that he hadn’t exactly excluded himself from that company.

“Come on, Varric,” Josephine said, smiling brightly and holding her arm out like a fine lady at a royal ball. “I want to go find our lovely Inquisitor and tell her all about this. She’ll be so sad she missed it.”

“We’ll just have to give her the best damn recounting we can manage, then,” Varric replied. He took Josephine’s arm and they strode off together, the oddest pair in all Skyhold.

The Iron Bull snickered a little as the two of them left, then looked at Cullen. “So is Cassandra…?”

“In on the reason for my newfound sparring habit?” Cullen finished. “She recommended the habit, actually.”

“No kidding? Good call,” the Bull said. He smiled at Cassandra with approval.

“You didn’t mention you’d told him,” Cassandra said to Cullen.

“Er, yeah,” Cullen said, scratching his head. “The Bull’s been a good friend and source of support. He knocked me silly enough times that I forgot I wasn’t going to tell him what was going on.”

Cassandra smiled. “Glad to hear it. I had hoped that might happen.”

“Really?” the Iron Bull asked. He said something in a language Cassandra didn’t understand, but she would bet anything it was some kind of curse, or a comment on her sexual appeal. Or both.

Cullen whistled quietly. “You’re craftier than I’d given you credit for.”

“Only when it suits me,” she said, feeling a little mischievous. “I’m going to take a quick shower.”

“Need company?” the Bull offered.

“No.”

“Damn.”

Cullen laughed. “I’ll see you later, Cassandra. Thanks for the fight.”

Cassandra turned, waving at him as she left, and headed towards her room.

-

In all the excitement, Cassandra didn’t quite finish her rounds of Skyhold. She saw Blackwall later, and he immediately congratulated her on her win against Cullen. Dorian did the same, though he accompanied it by telling her that he was sorry to have missed it, as she must have been a true sight to behold. For a man who didn’t seem to be even slightly interested, Dorian certainly liked to flatter her. It was almost charming.

Back in her smithy, she read reports from others. In her absence, they had been busy carrying out the Inquisitor’s orders. Her favorite news came from Crestwood. A keep in the area which had formerly belonged to bandits had been brought fully under Inquisition control, giving them a post from which to monitor the current state of the rift in the lake. They could send some measure of protection to the people of Crestwood until the Inquisitor could come finish the job.

And as she suspected, some of the reports she had been expecting were definitely missing.

She swung by Josephine’s office towards the end of the day, accusing her of stealing her paperwork while she was out. Josephine was as cheerful as she had been earlier that day, and merrily laughed her off.

“I had the time and energy to spare,” she said, getting up to sort out a few books on a shelf. “Besides, I did not do it alone. Leliana also contributed.”

“So I ought to go scold her as well?” Cassandra asked dryly.

Josephine beamed. “Yes, of course!”

Cassandra shook her head, vaguely trying to hide her growing smile. Josephine’s good mood was catching, apparently, and she didn’t think she was the only one who felt that way.

“I don’t know what has you in such high spirits,” she said, “but it’s nice to see you this way.”

Josephine lifted a hand to her cheek, embarrassed. “I-I hadn’t realized.”

Cassandra frowned slightly, unsure what she meant. “You hadn’t realized what, exactly?”

“Oh, it’s - it’s just something silly, don’t pay it any mind,” Josephine replied, growing more flustered.

“What? What is it? I hope it’s nothing I’ve done…?”

“No, no!” Josephine looked away. “I… I simply hadn’t realized I was so, um, transparent.”

“Transparent about what? Being happy?”

“Yes…Yes, something like that.”

Cassandra could help but smile a little. “Josephine, there’s nothing embarrassing about being happy. I meant it when I said it was nice to see you this way. It has lightened my spirits, and I’m sure it has done the same for others, as well. It’s good to see someone smiling in these times.”

“Oh,” Josephine said. She looked back at Cassandra finally, sheepish. “Sorry.”

“You act as though you’ve done something wrong,” Cassandra remarked.

“Not… exactly.” Josephine went back to her desk, leaning against it.

“Then what?”

“It’s just… with the Game, it isn’t always wise to show your hand, as it were. It’s not necessarily a good thing that I’m so obvious. Were someone unfriendly to take note of my happiness, they would surely try to find the source of it and know they could use it against me.”

“No one unfriendly is here right now, though. I’m sure you would be more guarded with somebody you were not so familiar with.”

“I should hope so.” Josephine sighed. “You’re not even going to ask, are you?”

Cassandra shook her head. “Not really.” Sure, she wondered what had made Josephine so cheerful, but if Josephine was so embarrassed that she was even caught being cheerful, then perhaps it was none of her business.

“You’re a good friend.” Finally, Josephine smiled again. “I don’t know why Varric likes teasing you about having no friends or whatever it is he says all the time. You’re kind to just about everybody in Skyhold. Andraste bless you, even though you don’t get along quite as well with Sera, you still check in on her and make sure she is well. She’d never say it, but she does appreciate that.”

Cassandra stared at Josephine, poleaxed. “I… I had no idea people thought of me that way,” she stammered. Truthfully, she hadn’t even realized that so many people might think of her as a friend. She wasn’t used to - to having many of those. But Cassandra suspected Josephine would only fret needlessly if she said any of that, so she held her tongue.

Josephine gave her a sweet smile. “Then I am honored to be the one to inform you of it. And, Cassandra, unless I miss my mark, you, too, have been in a better mood today. It’s good to see that as well.”

“I suppose I have,” Cassandra said. Now that she thought about it, she felt more at peace with herself than she had for many weeks. “Thank you. And thank you for stealing my work, even if you really shouldn’t have.”

Josephine laughed. “You’re welcome, but on that account, we’ll have to agree to disagree.”

When Cassandra left Josephine’s office, there was a small smile on her face. Yes, Josephine’s cheer had definitely rubbed off on her.

Time to go bother Leliana about stealing her paperwork, and with any luck, rub some good cheer off on her, as well.

There was a more direct path from Skyhold’s main hall up to Leliana’s little attic, but it was a path that avoided Solas, Varric, and Dorian, and Cassandra did not want to make a habit of doing any of that, so she went over to the farther door.

As expected, Varric had something witty to say before she had even fully made her way over there. “My, my, Seeker, is that a smile?”

She couldn’t frown at that, it would be like giving in. Still smiling, Cassandra said, “Yes, it is. You’ve seen one before, I’m sure. It shouldn’t be _that_ shocking.”

“I’m just wondering, what exactly makes you smile?” Varric tapped his fingers against his desk. “A winning hand of Wicked Grace? The blood of your enemies? Or are you still smug about kicking Curly’s ass? ”

“Certainly not the first one,” Cassandra remarked. “I don’t think I’ve won a hand in my entire life.”

“Funny, Seeker,” Varric said, chuckling.

Cassandra stopped with her hand over the doorknob, turning her head to raise an eyebrow at him pointedly.

Varric stopped tapping. “...You weren’t joking?”

“I don’t often joke,” Cassandra said, pulling away from the door and crossing her arms.

Varric’s jaw dropped slightly. “How is that even _possible_?”  

“I’m simply not very good at it. I can never keep track of what all the different hands are, things like that.”

“What backwater bandit from Brynnlaw taught you how to play Wicked Grace?”

“No one, really. I mostly picked it up on my own. Badly. It was never very important.”

Varric seemed genuinely pained. “That is a damn travesty.”

“As much as I’m enjoying this conversation, Varric, I did have something I wanted to discuss with Leliana,” Cassandra interrupted, half-smiling.

“Right, right. Tell Nightingale I said hi. See you later.” Varric muttered under his breath as he sat at his desk again. “Never very important, she says… How she lived this long…”

The door shut behind her, cutting his words off, but Cassandra thought she had the gist of them.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's a little late!

Solas was too busy to give her more than a nod of acknowledgement as she passed and Dorian was nowhere to be found, so the path up to Leliana’s floor was a quick and quiet one. She heard the sound of crows cawing as she hit the top steps and wondered to herself how Leliana was so comfortable with her birds. Cassandra didn’t quite understand it.

Leliana was writing something with no particular urgency, relaxed and stretched out in her chair with her feet propped up on a nearby box. Though the sun was still up, its light was beginning to dim, and Leliana had already lit a candle nearby. She didn’t seem to see Cassandra right away, though this was Leliana, and there was no way for Cassandra to know that for sure.

“You stole my busywork,” Cassandra declared.

“Only a few parts that wouldn’t be missed,” Leliana replied without looking up. “If what you found in the Western Approach was as bad as I suspected it might be, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to take a little off your plate.”

“It was needless,” Cassandra replied, but she said more warmly, “Thank you.”

Leliana finished a sentence, set her pen aside, and glanced at Cassandra, smiling. “You’re quite welcome. Though yes, it does seem like it was a little needless. You look well.”

With a proper look at Leliana’s face, Cassandra could see bags under her eyes, mostly covered up with make-up, and her smile seemed genuine but slightly strained.

“You don’t,” Cassandra said bluntly.

“I’m as well as can be,” Leliana said, “and you only notice because you’ve seen me on a regular basis over the last few years, so you know the signs.”

“I’m concerned for you, not for your public appearance.”

“I wasn’t trying to say that you were,” Leliana said, “nor would I expect you to be.”

“What does that mean?” Cassandra asked, frowning.

“You aren’t generally concerned about public opinion,” Leliana said. “I don’t mean that as an insult. In many ways, it’s an asset. Your frankness is a good thing, especially for someone like me, who is not so good at it. The only exception might be a noble’s most frivolous ball, but of course, we don’t send you to those, do we?” Leliana waved a hand. “I’m getting off-topic. The point is that I know you are concerned for me. Thank you, but I can handle myself.”

Cassandra looked at Leliana for a moment, then grabbed a chair and kicked it over by Leliana. She sat down in it backwards, leaning over the edge as she’d seen Krem do, once. She picked her words very, very carefully. “I recently had… an argument with a friend,” she said. “That friend accused me not of being unable to handle myself, but of forcing myself to deal with my struggles on my own when I did not have to. I took it badly. I would not say I was solely in the wrong there, but that friend was right.” Cassandra looked Leliana in the eye. “I trust that you can handle yourself, but if I can help, or at least listen, please let me know. We… We have known each other for a long time, Leliana, and though we’re friends, I know we’re not - we’re not close. I regret that a little.”

Leliana was speechless for a moment, and when she spoke, she seemed a little withdrawn, choosing her words carefully. “In some ways, that is how it should be between the Left and Right Hands of the Divine,” she said. “They share the same goals, but not the same methods. They work together, but their lives are always separated down a firm, uncrossable line, and in between, the Divine holds her place.”

“Is that the reason why? Were you conscious of that when I was not?” Cassandra asked. Leliana didn’t reply, which was as telling as words would have been. “We’re no longer Most Holy’s Hands,” Cassandra said quietly.

“Maybe old habits die hard, ma chère amie,” Leliana replied, smiling a little. “But you should know I don’t believe I am an easy person to be close with.”

“Ease has nothing to do with it.”

“No, it does not.”

“What are you working on?” Cassandra asked, thinking a change in subject might help.

“A little bit of a contingency plan,” Leliana said, angling her papers towards Cassandra. “It would be unfavorable, to put it one way, but there is the possibility that Corypheus storms southward with his army before we are able to put a halt to him. Should he take Skyhold, or much of Orlais, the Inquisition would be… disadvantaged.”

Cassandra gave Leliana an incredulous look. “And you have a plan to counter that?”

“Yes, I believe so,” Leliana said, “though it’s a strange one.”

“Strange?”

“It involves an alliance with the Freemen of the Dales.”

“You’re joking,” Cassandra said instantly.

“Not in the least. Listen. Corypheus is a greater threat to Orlais than the acts of its nobles and rulers. If he comes from the north and take Val Royeaux, as we know he plans, Orlais will fall, and fast. But the Freemen, as well as several outlying parts of both Duke Gaspard and Empress Celene’s armies, are located in the south. In a time of disaster, these factions might be amenable to a joining of forces to take Orlais back.”

“That’s… ambitious,” Cassandra murmured.

“But it could work, and that’s what counts. So I’m writing up details for evacuating key personnel in Skyhold to the Dales.”

It clicked then. Back in her dream this morning, that was where Leliana had said the Inquisition had gone, wasn’t it?

Cassandra didn’t know what expression she had made at that realization, but whatever it was, Leliana was suddenly looking at Cassandra with concern.

Playing it off, Cassandra smiled and said, “That sounds like a very useful plan.”

“Is something wrong?” Leliana asked, undeterred.

“I’m fine,” Cassandra promised, reaching out to touch Leliana’s shoulder. Just before Cassandra made contact, Leliana flinched, and though she caught herself and relaxed as Cassandra’s fingertips hovered over her, for a brief passing moment, Cassandra saw a raw fear in Leliana’s eyes. It helped her connect the dots.

The tea recipe Josephine had got from Leliana, good for sleeping, even after waking up from a terrible dream.

After after the party with the other women, wishing Leliana goodnight with a hug (she flinched), bidding her to sleep well (she hesitated).

“My dreams are not red, but they are blighted,” Cole had said. No, not blighted, Blighted. Infected by the Blight _._ “I won’t talk about that, either,” he’d said; Leliana had made him promise, too.

How many other signs had she missed?

She and Solas had been wrong, theorizing that it was the red lyrium which somehow caused the dreams. It wasn’t as though her dreams had been restricted to memories with red lyrium. Those memories were just more common, perhaps because they were more traumatic than the rest. No, the cause had to be elsewhere. Because…

“Cassandra?” Leliana asked. “Please, are you alright?”

Cassandra’s mouth was dry and she swallowed, trying to catch up. Fearful, she asked, “Did you come up with this contingency plan, or did you - did you remember it?”

Leliana’s mask broke, and she stared back at Cassandra in shock. “This - this is not a conversation for a place we can be overheard,” she said. She put her notes aside and got to her feet, waving for Cassandra to follow her. Numbly, she did.

They went out to the balcony. It was a little windy up there, and very cut-off from the rest of Skyhold. The sun had set now and the light was dim and red.

Leliana turned the moment Cassandra closed the door behind her.

“Am I given to understand that you’re asking me if I remember a future which never existed?” Leliana asked.

Cassandra didn’t think she’d ever heard her be so straightforward in her life, and she understood why. There was a wild look in Leliana’s wide eyes, a raw and defensive wariness that Cassandra wished she didn’t recognize so well.

“You told us to run for the Dales,” Cassandra said. She was surprised to find that her voice was hoarse with emotion. “You begged us to abandon you and find the Inquisition there.”

Leliana was struck speechless.

“I’ve dreamed of it regularly since Redcliffe. You have too, haven’t you?”

Slowly, Leliana nodded. “Mostly… the torture,” she said, her voice only just audible. “But many parts. Including - that.”

“Is the torture the reason why you keep flinching?”

Leliana nodded again, taking the extra moment to watch Cassandra, measuring her. “But you… You don’t have that problem. Contact does not trouble you.”  

“They never touched me, except to move me into place.” Cassandra closed her eyes for a short moment, chasing off phantom sensations, bad memories. She added, “Instead, they let the lyrium do the work for them.”

“Maker’s breath, Cassandra,” Leliana whispered.

Later, Cassandra would not recall who initiated it, but they fell into a haphazard hug, clinging to each other desperately. Cassandra didn’t cry and neither did Leliana, but it felt as if they were somehow drawing that same strength from each other.

If only she’d seen it sooner.

“I’m sorry,” Cassandra said eventually.

“I forgave you the moment you left.”

Cassandra said in a near whisper, “That makes one of us,” and Leliana held on tighter.

They stayed out there, quiet, until it grew too dark and cold to continue. Wrung out by their realizations, they finally went back inside, and promised each other than they would discuss things more tomorrow.

-

Cassandra was still feeling the emotional impact the next day. It was nice to know she was not alone, but to know Leliana was suffering as well (and worse than she was, in her opinion) made it difficult to truly appreciate that.

Leliana wasted little time in making good on their promise. She showed up in Cassandra’s office with a smile and a small basket of breads.

“Have you eaten?” she asked.

“Not enough to make one of those croissants look less delicious,” Cassandra replied. “Bring those over here.”

“With pleasure.”

Cassandra tucked _High in Hardtown: Siege Harder_ into a drawer. She hadn’t been enjoying it much, anyway - it was vastly different from its predecessor, and in her opinion, not nearly as good. What had Varric been thinking, sending Brennokovich off to another city, anyway?

“Was that one of Varric’s books?” Leliana asked as she sat neatly on a chair nearby and handed Cassandra a croissant. She also picked one out for herself.

“Yes,” Cassandra replied. “I’m sure by now word has made its way to you that I read them.”

“I think Cullen may not be aware, but he’s the only one I can think of,” Leliana said apologetically.

“Worst kept secret in all Skyhold,” Cassandra growled.

Leliana raised her eyebrows and smiled, perhaps thinking of an even worse kept secret, knowing her. “It’s not like anybody can tease you about it. Nearly everyone has read at least one or two of his books at this point.”

“I have read nearly all of them, several of them, including _The Tale of the Champion_ , multiple times. That is not ‘one or two’ books.”

“See, I think _that_ part of it escaped the gossip. They merely marvel over the fact that you’ve read any of them at all,” Leliana said. “You’re safe.”

“Lucky me.”

There was a pause in the conversation. Leliana seemed to have something on her mind, and Cassandra took the moment to tear off a piece of the croissant for herself. As she quickly munched - oh, this was _good_ bread - she considered what Leliana might be wondering about.

It didn’t take her too long to figure it out, however.

Cassandra swallowed her bite. “Are you trying to find a tactful way to ask about Varric?”

“Oh - well - yes,” Leliana replied. She shrugged. “But… I don’t even know what it is I should be asking. Any questions I might have would be… sensitive, based on presumption, so on. You need not… clarify.”

“Presumption? Are you telling me you - in that alternate future - picked up on…?”

“On something, yes.” Leliana folded her hands together and looked down at them. “I… wasn’t sure what it was. But… if it was what I thought it was…” Leliana sighed. “It gave me hope in a dark time.”

Cassandra smiled slightly, and sighed. “It was most likely what you thought it was. Varric and I had… fallen for each other. But things with things the way they were, we avoided expressing it.” She couldn’t look at Leliana if she was to say the next part. “Had - had our escape attempt succeeded, we might have acted upon it. I don’t yet know how we were recaptured, but…”

“You take the idea of falling for Varric better than I thought you might,” Leliana said in a carefully neutral tone.

“I’ve had time to adjust to the idea,” Cassandra replied. She didn’t have to feign the ease of her answer. “It bothered me a great deal, at first, more than I even admitted to myself, at the time. But I’ve mostly accepted it now. Cole has… helped.”

“I’m not surprised,” Leliana said. Cassandra looked back at her and found her smiling again. “Cole has been paying me the occasional visit. When nobody’s around, or if he allows nobody to see him, he’s been… shaking my hand.”

“He… what?”

“Because of the touch aversion. I think it has helped, even if it does sound a little strange. He knows I hate it, so, he tries to help.”

Cassandra chuckled. “Of course he does.” Cassandra knew she wanted to ask about that, but she couldn’t quite…

“Are you trying to find a tactful way to ask about the touch aversion?”

Cassandra snorted. Leliana had mirrored her own wording.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Leliana said. She bent her head again. “It was… the torture, mixed with the Blight. What did touch me, hurt. When others tried to touch me, others such as you or my agents, I shied away. I knew in my head that it was contracted by blood, but I still feared that I might pass it on to someone who was not so resistant as I.”

“That sounds miserable.”

“It was. And to some extent, is. It’s been hard to deal with, but few people try to touch me, anyway. I’m intimidating, apparently. I’ve never had it so bad as I did in that other timeline, thank Andraste, but only recently can I say that I don’t need to prepare myself for every chance of non-combative touch.”

“It doesn’t happen in battle?”

“No. It’s a matter of the mind. My mind recognizes battle, and other dangerous situations, as different.”

“That has to be some kind of relief.”

Leliana smiled bitterly. “What, that I won’t be a major liability to the Inquisition because I froze up and failed to a string bow? Yes, that was ‘some kind of relief,’ certainly.”

Cassandra nearly cringed at her tone. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

The smile dropped off Leliana’s face, replaced by regret, and she interrupted, “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be taking that out on you.”

“But-”

“Listen.”

Cassandra shut her mouth.

Before she began, Leliana took a slow, deep breath. “The worst remnant of that future is not the touch aversion. It’s the coldness. At the end of it, I had given up everything but duty. I had sworn I would not give up the Inquisition. But hope, faith? Those things became lost to me, after long enough.”

“Faith?” Cassandra asked, incredulous.

“Well - I’ve always been a little heretical.” Now, Cassandra was even more disbelieving. “Only a little, enough to make a Revered Mother or two scold. Justinia, she knew, and though she did not agree she… understood.”

“What _exactly_ does ‘a little heretical’ mean?”

Leliana looked down. “We are told that the Maker abandoned us, that He turned away when the mages turned to the Old Gods and abused their power. I have never quite been able to believe that. I have known too many good mages to believe He would condemn them all, condemn _us_ all, and I have seen too many beautiful things in the world to believe He had no hand in them. Nor does it make sense to me that only humanity would be the Maker’s creation, and no others. The idea that the Maker cares only for His faithful doesn’t ring true for me. I think that does qualify as a little heretical.”

“I… I have heard such sentiments before,” Cassandra said, frowning. She had not expected this from Leliana. Honestly, she replied, “I still do not know what to think of them.”

Leliana sighed in brief, quickly smothered relief, and only then did Cassandra realize the risk Leliana had taken in telling her this. “I’m not trying to convince you one way or another. The point is that this is what I have believed for many years, and it has brought me great hope and joy. But in that alternate future, yes, I lost even my faith in this. I came to believe that the Maker _had_ turned away from us, from _all_ of us. That only oblivion waited for us all, and that we had denied the Maker the rightful path long ago. Though I believed in the Maker, I did not believe He would ever return to us, and eventually, I thought that He had never cared at all.”

Cassandra wasn’t sure what to say. Bringing the world back to the Maker’s favor was a holy duty in her eyes, and she had never completely considered a viewpoint such as Leliana’s. But the despair Leliana spoke of, _that_ she could see. Yet again she glimpsed Leliana as she was in that alternate future, broken apart by the horrors of the world.

“And now?” she asked, nearly fearful of the answer.

Leliana looked up at her, and some of the shadows in her face receded. “I had been telling myself there were no miracles, but I was wrong, wasn’t I? Lavellan did come, in the end. I was bitter about that, that she came so ignorant to what had befallen the world, to the pain I carried. But we won. I gave my life that she might make her miracle. At the end, she reminded me to believe. And I do. These memories only… strain that belief sometimes.”

“The Inquisitor has a habit of doing that,” Cassandra murmured. “Making the faithless faithful. Making the already faithful believe more firmly than before.”

“Has she done so for you?”

“Me, personally?” It wasn’t an easy question. She had doubted that Lavellan was truly the way forward many times. They had broken with the very foundation of the Chantry. They had been deemed heretics long before they had been deemed heroes. Now they prepared to assault the Grey Wardens in their own fortress, an unthinkable concept, to halt Corypheus’ chaos.

So it was hard, sometimes, to think that they were on the right path. But seeing what the world had become _without_ Lavellan, their Herald, their Inquisitor, how could she not?

“I think she has,” Cassandra said thoughtfully, feeling certainty settle into her bones.

“Our dear Inquisitor may not know whether to believe in Andraste,” Leliana murmured, “but I think she will be the last to find that out. Or perhaps she never will. Perhaps that is what a hero of her stature must be like, to be who she is: never as sure as those who follow her.”

“Maybe so.”

“We’ve gotten a little off-topic,” Leliana said, straightening. “The point of this was that I still have some of that bitterness in me, and I’m sorry to have taken it out on you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Cassandra replied. “Maker knows I’ve taken out my own struggles on those who did not deserve it.”

“Varric?” Leliana asked, as quick as ever. “Is that why your little grudge against him went on so long?”

“Imagine that you were positively furious at somebody you believed you despised, and then you dreamed that same night that he was consoling you in a time of need.”

Leliana smiled slightly. “I can see how that might be frustrating.”

“It was.”

“Then, if you don’t mind that I ask, what about now? Where do you stand with him now?”

Cassandra sighed and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Are you telling me you don’t already know?”

“No, I do _not_ already know. That’s why I am asking.”

“You are telling me,” Cassandra said with a healthy dose of skepticism, “that you met us for all of five minutes in an alternate future and you could tell there was something between us, but you have no idea what’s going on now?”

Leliana gave a mysterious little smile. “Well, I haven’t been around both of you at the same time for five minutes recently, have I? All I know is that the two of you have been getting on surprisingly well. Until last night, it made little sense. Now, it makes more sense, but I still don’t fully understand.”

Cassandra rubbed her forehead. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted disclose this… whatever it was. But what harm could it do? Leliana would not betray her secrets; in fact, she would go to extreme measures to keep them, if need be. It might even help her out to have some sort of confidant on all matters… Varric. Particularly one who already knew the stranger details of her situation.

“There is… something,” Cassandra said. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel some sort of… affection, attraction, both, towards Varric. Partially because of the dreams, yes, but only partially. And if I were not having the dreams I don’t know if I would have picked up on it, but he - he…”

“He returns some of that feeling?” Leliana asked.

“Yes. I don’t know how or what. But yes.”

“Do you think it will go anywhere?”

“At this point, I have no idea. Truthfully,” Cassandra murmured, “I consider it accomplishment enough that I’m talking about it at all.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Leliana replied. “It might take me a while to understand the two of you, but… I wish you luck.”

“Thank you, Leliana.” Cassandra hesitated, but pressed on. “He is a good man, when he chooses to be.”

“I knew that,” she said, smiling. “He’s not very good at hiding the fact that he’s kind at heart.”

“And yet, it took me many, many weeks to figure that out.”

“But you did, didn’t you?”

“I suppose so.” Cassandra smiled slightly, trying her best not to be embarrassed. “What about you, Leliana? Anybody in your life?”

“No, but that’s fine.” Leliana gave that slightly bitter smile again. “Even if I were looking, now would not be the best timing, anyway,” she said, glancing at her hands.

Cassandra put a hand on Leliana’s shoulder, ignoring the inevitable tension on Leliana’s part. “Maybe it would not,” she said. “But you’ll get past this. And from there, you’ll do whatever you want.”

“You’re probably right.” Leliana sighed, tilting her head back. “Yes, I do think we will get through this. I wish… There’s no point to it, but I wish we had discovered we were both dreaming sooner. It… It would have been nice.”

“We’ll just have to make the best of what we have, then,” Cassandra said. Something occurred to her then, with the thought of the future and the dreams twining together. “Leliana, have you ever had a dream twice?”

“I don’t believe so. Why do you ask?”

“If that’s true, then I wonder if they won’t someday stop, when we’ve re-experienced every minute of that future,” Cassandra said. “It may take a very long time, but eventually…”

“They might end,” Leliana finished, smiling. “I‘ve had that thought. It would be nice if it were true.”

“I’ll run it by Solas later, see what he thinks.”

“Solas knows?”

“Yes, he knows about my dreams. I told him when I realized something strange was going on, and made the connection between dreams and the Fade.”

Leliana tapped her chin. “I should pool resources with him. I’ve done a little looking on my own. Perhaps together we would be able to determine more about this phenomenon.”

“It could be worth a try. He and I have our theories, but whatever you could contribute can only help.”

“Then I’ll be sure to do that.” Leliana sighed. “You haven’t told the Inquisitor either, have you?”

“It hasn’t hindered my duties, so no, I haven’t.”

“Yes, that was my reasoning, as well. We should probably tell her sometime, though. I don’t like the idea that both of us are going through this somewhat behind her back.”

“I don’t know if I can do that just now,” Cassandra admitted.

“The day may come when she may need to know. I don’t think there’s any rush, but… Would you be willing to tell her? Not now, but…”

“Maybe,” Cassandra said. “But in many ways it is so… intensely personal. Private. Your other self, her bitterness was not unjustified. I never did quite get to the same point of despair, but that last part…” Briefly, Cassandra dwelled in those memories which didn’t include Varric, only the red lyrium, singing to her in discordant tones. “She will never know what it was like,” Cassandra said, harsher than she had intended.

“Oh, Cassandra,” Leliana murmured.

Cassandra shook the feeling away, chasing it off with the present - the sounds of the smiths’ hammers keeping a steady rhythm, the smell of the delicious breads they hadn’t eaten, Leliana, healthy, in front of her.

“My apologies,” Cassandra said, looking at Leliana directly. “I did not mean to…”

“You did only what I myself have done, multiple times. You remembered,” Leliana replied gently. “We are both still healing. As you said, we will get past this.”

Cassandra smiled. Firmly, with no room for doubt, she said, “We will.”


	11. Chapter 11

After her chat with Leliana, Cassandra felt like a nice, socialization-free day was exactly what she needed. She got work done, barked orders at recruits, and finally, discussed Adamant with Cullen in preparation for Hawke and Alistair’s return. They were expected to be back at Skyhold within the next few days, and if they came with the expected report, she wanted the Inquisition to be ready.

But they _weren’t_ ready. On this point, she and Cullen agreed. Their forces were still recovering after Haven’s fall. The Wardens, by contrast, were likely coming out in droves, gathering in the same place for the first time in centuries under Warden-Commander Clarel’s call. Their army would be fighting demons as well as well-trained Warden forces, very capable of taking down hordes of darkspawn, never mind regular troops.

It was a frustrating conclusion to reach. The only reason Cassandra did not slam her fist against the table in frustration was that Cullen did it before her. “By the time we’re ready,” he said, “Corypheus may have more than the troops he needs.”

“He may not.”

“But what if he does?” Cullen paced across the room. “Every we moment we take for preparing, we risk the possibility Maker knows how many demons are ready to take Val Royeaux and Halamshiral, and we’ve already lost.”

“Damn it, Cullen, calm down,” Cassandra growled. She put her hands on the table, leaning over it. “That’s why we’re going to hear Hawke and Alistair out, then take this straight to Lavellan, Josephine, and Leliana, and come up with a plan. If we need to wait, we’ll wait; if we lose because we go in unprepared but afraid that Corypheus will be, then either way, he wins.”

“I -” Cullen lifted a hand, then it wavered, and finally, he set it down again with a long, angry sigh. “I know that,” he replied. “However we do this, we have to hit that window perfectly, and we can only guess where that window will be, and how long it will last.”

Cassandra leaned up again, rubbing her forehead absently. “We should stop for now. Planning without more information is getting us nowhere and frustrating us both.”

“You’re right.” Cullen took a deep breath. “I need to talk to Josephine more, anyway. I’m not sure what our present allies can do to aid us.”

“Then we’ll talk more about this when Hawke and Alistair bring us more information?”

“Seems like that would be for the best.” Cullen started rolling up his map of Orlais with a long sigh. “I hope we can pull this off. If we do, it will be a good, major blow to Corypheus’ plans. Our first since we took the mages out from under him.”

“We could use a victory,” Cassandra agreed.

When she left Cullen’s office, it was raining. She walked (more like a near run, not that she’d admit it if asked) across to the top of the Herald’s Rest. In the empty room she shook herself out slightly, sprinkling raindrops on the floor.

She saw Cole when she entered the tavern properly, but she wasn’t quite in the mood to talk with him. She gave him a little wave and hoped he wouldn’t offer her something to dry her or some other form of kindness she had little interest in. Luckily, he seemed more concerned with some small creature Cassandra couldn’t see from her position.

Cassandra was certain that neither Sera nor the Bull would dare disturb her while she was in a slightly sour mood, so as long as nobody else was haunting the Herald’s Rest today, she wouldn’t run into anybody else on her way back to the smithy.

“Seeker!”

But of course, she was not that lucky.

Suppressing a long, tired sigh, Cassandra turned to the source of the voice. Varric had taken up a chair at a small, two-person table, tucked away in the corner. He waved her over, grinning cheerfully.

“What is it?” she grumbled.

Varric leaned forward. “Catch you at a bad time, Seeker? You haven’t been this annoyed with me in at least… Well, never mind. It wasn’t _that_ long ago.”

Somehow she wasn’t surprised that his concern came with an insult, as well. Resisting the sharper side of her tongue, Cassandra replied, “It has not been a good morning. Unless you have some way to make it better, I suggest you antagonize me later.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” Varric said. He leaned back again, in his element. “I was just avoiding the weather after a nice few rounds of Wicked Grace with her radiance the Inquisitor. I have a deck, you have some spare time…” Varric tapped the deck with a couple of fingers. “…I hope?”

“Are you saying you’d teach me Wicked Grace?” Cassandra asked. “And you think this would _help_ my mood?”

“Don’t be like that! I have it on the authority of more than one clueless Dalish elf that I am an excellent teacher,” Varric replied, winking. “Come on, give me a chance. What if we ever have to play Wicked Grace to the death in order to rescue Lavellan from the clutches of a nefarious smuggling ring allied with the Venatori?”

“That _won’t_ happen.” Cassandra had no idea how he came up with these things.

“But what if it did? By your own admission, you’d be an embarrassment to our good name. We can’t have that, can we?”

“What, you think every other leader of the Inquisition _can_ win Wicked Grace?”

“I’m not saying Curly could win, but at least he could play. Everybody else? Oh, yeah. I mean, I don’t personally know about Vivienne, but she’s scary. So I’m betting on yes.” Varric grinned at her, a challenging grin that made Cassandra want to do dangerous things. “Sit down, Seeker. I’ll make it good for you, I promise.”

“How reassuring,” Cassandra muttered, well aware of his intended innuendo. She could never tell to what degree he meant it, which only annoyed her further. And still, as she always seemed to, she grabbed the chair across from him and sat down, damning herself even further down the path to oblivion.

“You won’t regret this,” Varric promised. He picked up the deck and ran his thumb over it, then began shuffling it. Cassandra watched his hands, partially to try and catch if he intended to cheat somehow, and partially because she felt like it. In for a silver, in for a sovereign, or in this case, a very poor decision.

Varric dealt out cards out to each of them, then put the deck in the middle. There was a little smirk on his face. “Alright, Seeker. You said you barely know the hands, so before we get into any real playing, let’s find out what ‘barely’ means.” He reached over and flipped her cards for her, then his own. “Who would win and why?”

Cassandra glanced over the cards. This was an easy question; Varric’s hand was worthless. “I have a pair of serpents, and you don’t have anything.”

“And if these cards were angels instead?” Varric asked, pointing to a couple of his.

“...Still me?”

Varric stared at her. “Really?”

She scowled, using anger to cover her embarrassment. It wasn’t exactly her fault she’d never had the chance or knack to learn the game, but she also knew it was a game with rules simple enough that most children could play, if poorly. “This was a bad idea,” she said, rising to her feet. “I could be-”

“Wait.” He stopped her with a hand on her arm, holding her back. For the briefest moment, as she turned her head back and met his eyes, his expression was vulnerable, apologetic. He covered it quickly, replacing it with a more neutral half-smile, but she knew she was not mistaken. “Wasn’t laughing at you, I promise. Just gonna have to go over more of the basics than I was thinking. Take it as a compliment - I was _sure_ you’d be better at Wicked Grace than this.”

Cassandra hesitated, but slowly sat back down. Between the touch and the look, her heart was beating just a little faster. She took care not to let it show. “I’m not sure why you would. I’ve always been told that those who excel at Wicked Grace are the best liars, those who can bluff and bluster.”

“Guilty as charged,” Varric replied, a little smug. “But that doesn’t mean the best players are all charlatans. Who would you expect to be the next best player in Skyhold? After me, of course.”

“Leliana, maybe?”

“Good guess, but that’s not where I’d place my money. I’d say it was Ruffles.”

“Josephine? But she’s possibly the kindest person in all of Skyhold. I’ve never seen her bluster in the least.”

“She plays the Game, and at heart, she’s devious.” As he explained, Varric started shuffling their cards back into the deck, and Cassandra settled into her seat again. Maybe she wouldn’t be leaving after all. “She’s an expert at judging strengths and weaknesses, both hers and others’. Nightingale would probably be good, too, but her expertise, if I had to guess, is more about information - she’s likelier to count your cards than bluff your sorry ass into the ground. And in Wicked Grace, cards don’t mean a blighted thing if you don’t have the panache to back them up.”

Cassandra thought she understood most of that. “You don’t think Leliana could bluff?”

“Sure she could. But she would look at your cards and your actions and think you’re bound to have a four-pair, and she wouldn’t go for it with her weaker hand. Josephine might, if she thought she could out-bluff her opponent. Josephine would take the risk. That’s the difference.”

“I see. But then why did you think I would be a good Wicked Grace player?”

Varric laughed. “Seeker, I _still_ think you could be a good Wicked Grace player. You could be an excellent liar.”

“Great,” Cassandra said dryly. “I’m sure you know well that we Seekers of Truth prize lying above all other skills, and practice it regularly.”

“Lying’s a tool like any other, Cassandra,” Varric replied. The words gave her brief pause, and the sense that she’d heard them before. Something he’d said in the alternate future, perhaps? “Use it too much against your friends and you’re the kind of asshole who no longer gets invited to all the parties. But if you use it against your enemies, you can leave them high and dry and they still won’t know how it happened. Use it against potential allies in a low-stakes situation - a card game, for example - and you might earn a bit of respect.”

Cassandra frowned. “Is that what you do?”

“Mostly,” Varric hedged. He started dealing cards out to them both again. “I’m not saying that’s what you have to do. I’m just saying that lying can come in handy even for the most virtuous. That’s why Josephine can have the brightest smile this side of the Waking Sea and still look a man she hates in the eye and convince him she's swooning into his arms.”

“If that’s all true, then answer me this. What makes you think I can lie well enough to play Wicked Grace?”

“That’s easy. You’ve done it to me before!”

Cassandra was taken aback. “Bullshit. When?”

“You don’t remember?” Varric grinned at her. “It was ages ago, when we were on a mission out in the Emerald Graves. You told me, completely straight-faced, that you thought my stories could be a valuable intimidation technique. I couldn’t believe it!”

“Are you serious?” Cassandra asked. It was a pointless question, and she knew it as soon as she had asked it. Varric was smiling and chuckling, very genuinely amused by the memory. He completely meant what he was saying. “But that doesn’t mean I’d be a good liar, does it?”

“Keeping a straight face is half the battle,” Varric said, nodding. “Or at least, it could be for you. It differs for different people. For me, I work best by lying out of my ass at all times, so my opponents can’t tell when I’m lying or telling the truth, because there’s all some degree of fakery to it. I don’t think that’s the technique you want, though, at least to start with. You’ll want to let nothing slip. Play up the intimidation factor, maybe. Stare your opponent down like you’re going to rip their head off and they’ll be too terrified to do anything but fold.”

Cassandra stared at him, slightly open-mouthed. “You’re telling me I could use my Seeker training to - to _lie_?”

Varric frowned. “I’m telling you what now?”

Oh - he didn’t know. She needed to be more careful about that. “Part of Seeker training involves gaining tighter control of emotions,” she explained quickly. “That’s part of why I could carry on the joke that day.”

“Shit _,_ are you serious? I had no idea, I just saw you do it and thought-” Varric started chuckling, then outright laughing. “The Seekers of the Maker-forsaken Truth have the perfect skill set for _lying_? That’s - oh, laugh with me, it’s funny! It’s too perfect!”

Cassandra couldn’t laugh, she was covering her mouth with one hand, shocked. “I never - that is _not_ the purpose of the training!”

“I know, but - you have to appreciate the irony!” He laughed in between his words.

As the realization sunk in a little, Cassandra did start to see it. Varric didn’t mean disrespect towards the Seekers, he just saw it as an amusing coincidence. And it really was an amusing coincidence. Somewhat reluctantly, she smiled a little, shaking her head. “You know, none of this matters if I can’t keep the cards in my hand straight.”

Varric’s laughter wound down, though he was still very amused. The laughter had lit his face up, and it was good to see. She liked the relaxed, happy smile that remained on his face when he’d stopped. “Right. Of course. Baby steps,” he agreed.

“I am not a child, Varric,” Cassandra said, smiling.

“No, but you do need practice with Wicked Grace. A _lot_ of practice. Still, I’m gonna make you a promise, Seeker.” Varric grinned. “It’s not going to be any time soon, but some day, with my flawless teaching technique and your untapped potential, you’re going to be one of the best players in Skyhold.”

“You have much more belief in that than I do.”

“Prove me right,” Varric said, leaning a little closer over the table. “I dare you.”

Cassandra realized a few things at once. She was warm, this corner of Herald’s Rest was quiet, and the rain hitting the walls made a comforting sound. Between that and her little conversation with Varric, much of her stress and annoyance with the world had melted away, leaving her somewhat content. She hadn’t even noticed.

For now, this flirting - or at least, she thought it was flirting? - was about as far as she was comfortable taking things, but that could change quickly. Somehow, Varric knew how to strike the right balance, putting her in a good mood while also challenging her at every turn. If he could do that while kissing her… Hmm. Kissing Varric. She’d have to think about that more, later.

Cassandra smiled at Varric and picked up her cards from right under him. “Then you’d better get teaching.”

Varric laughed and leaned back again. “You got it, Seeker. We’ll start simple, with the different suits.”

“Simple, he says,” Cassandra muttered.

“Well, relatively speaking.”

“Right.”

-

While the Inquisitor and Dorian muttered over Alexius’ body, Cassandra heard banging at the front door. She glanced at Varric and subtly pointed for him to stay where he was while she went to check it out. He nodded ever so slightly in reply.

They were gathering outside, in massive numbers. Demons? Venatori? Both, most likely. Cassandra frowned at the wall with a hand to her sword hilt. At this rate, the door would not last long.

She heard Dorian’s voice interrupt her train of thought, and looked back towards the others. He stood purposefully and announced, “Give me an hour to work out the spell he used and I should be able to open the rift.”

Leliana’s ire rose. “An hour? That’s impossible!” Cassandra grimaced, agreeing. “You _must_ go now!”

With perfect timing, the entire castle began to shake. Cassandra nearly lost her footing. Chunks of the ceiling fell to the ground, shattering against the floor. The shrapnel didn’t reach higher than her knee, but she felt it bounce against her boots sharply.

She heard an unearthly screech, something she had never heard before. But she thought she knew what it was, and it put her heart in her throat.

A dragon?

The rumbling died down a little, and Cassandra quickly caught her breath and jogged back over towards Varric.

“The Elder One,” Leliana said when the rumbling died down.

“You have to hurry,” Varric added. “This… is bad.”

Cassandra looked at Varric.

And she knew how the Herald was going to get out of this alive.

Slowly, purposefully, she nodded at him. Her heart pounded, beating out a death knell in her chest, as he nodded back. Cassandra was speechless with the knowledge of what they were about to do.

Varric, as always, found his voice before she could find hers. He turned back to Leliana. “We’ll hold the main door,” he promised. “Once they break through,” once, not if, “it’s all you, Nightingale.”

Lavellan’s eyes were wide. “I can’t let you kill yourself for me!” she said. “There must be another way!”

“Look at us. We’re already dead,” Leliana said bitterly. “The only way we live is if this day _never_ comes.”

Her words rang with truth, echoing in Cassandra’s head far above the singing, the terror, everything. She looked back at Varric, and saw the same certainty mirrored in his gaze.

There was nothing left for them in this world.

In unison they turned back towards the door. Over her shoulder, Cassandra heard Leliana tell Dorian, “Cast your spell. You have as much time as I have arrows.”

And as much time as she and Varric could buy for Leliana on top of that, Cassandra thought.

Varric shifted, dropping behind her. She opened the door and slipped outside sword-point first, and her sword cleaved quickly through one of the demons out there.

She cleared a space for them while they still had surprise on their hand. She shoved back a shade and stabbed a mage, then slipped aside, allowing Varric through the door. He let loose a shot the moment he was clear, blowing a hole two meters wide in the opposition. For the briefest moment, the army in the hallway backed up. They were afraid.

The moment didn’t last, of course.

They were probably the longest handful of minutes in Cassandra’s entire life. With the full knowledge that she was going to die, there was nothing to hold her back. She lunged for kill strikes with abandon and shoved her shield wherever it could stop a blow, any blow, whether to herself or Varric. She couldn’t stop everything. A terror sliced at her arm, though she barely acknowledged it, and a shade’s low swipe might have cracked her shin bone; a mage burned part of Varric’s neck, leaving the flesh angry and red.

Cassandra wasn’t sure exactly how she received her death blow, but she knew it was something that burned, sharply, in her chest. She didn’t let it stop her. Every last part of her, she gave to stall just a little longer, slicing what she saw, stabbing where her sword could reach.

But finally something knocked her aside, and without her protection, it wasn’t long before Varric was tossed away too. She slammed against the wall of the room, dizzied for a moment when the back of her head hit the stones, and then Varric crashed into her, knocking her breath away.

The demons battered against the door, ignoring them as they clamored to enter Alexius’ chamber. Cassandra wouldn’t have noticed if not for the fact that she and Varric were left entirely alone.

He reached up to her neck with shaking hands. At first, she didn’t realize his intent, but he tugged at her helmet and Maker’s breath, she understood. She leaned her head forward slightly, and meanwhile, reached for his helmet, taking it off with equally weak arms.

Distantly, she heard the demons crash through the door; a voice, Leliana’s? It was all far away, drowned out by pain, and she couldn’t afford to hold on to it, not when she needed her concentration for more important things. Varric pulled her helmet off and dropped it somewhere on the floor, she didn’t know or care.

Cassandra fumbled to find some grip on his shoulders, and he managed to curl his fingers around her neck, and it worked well enough - their lips met, shakily, furiously. Drowning out the singing, the pain, everything but this.

It tasted like blood, like the end, but she knew she was not alone. She prayed for a future, she prayed for her death, and she prayed for him. She put her prayer into a final kiss, and hoped.

Of Varric and consciousness, Varric left her first.


	12. Chapter 12

Cassandra woke up shuddering, sobbing, unable to think. She sat up on the side of her bed, elbows on knees and head in hands, doing her best to ride out the grief and sorrow and some lingering nausea. She could barely breathe, but she treasured every breath.

Somehow it hadn’t occurred to her that her dreams might include her… her death. Or was it the moment when time was reversed? Both? It didn’t matter. Maybe she’d thought it was off-limits because Lavellan had seen it, or something like that. It had been a foolish assumption.

Maker, that had been… intense.

Her sobs finally slowed into small, shaky hiccups. As she calmed, her head and throat began to ache, and though her nausea had passed, it had been replaced by a hollow feeling, as though she'd been emptied out. The aftermath was possibly Cassandra’s least favorite part about crying. When she was mentally miserable, she wished her body would not decide to be physically miserable, too.

There would be no getting back to sleep in this state. With that knowledge, Cassandra eased herself upright, wiping away a few remaining tears with the back of her hand. She stood up and went to put on her usual outfit with slow, tired motions. Finally, with her blade strapped to her waist, she was out the door, stumbling her way down the empty halls.

Cassandra found herself in one of Skyhold’s kitchens. She wasn’t sure, for a moment, what she was doing there, but then she remembered tea. Tea might be nice.

She had found herself a kettle and started filling it with water when a noise behind her took her by surprise, and she turned around, glaring at whatever had disturbed her and sleepily wielding the half-full kettle.

Dorian threw both of his hands in the air in surrender. “Just me!”

Cassandra stared at him in disbelief. “You’re… afraid of me with a tea kettle?”

“Yes, I’m pretty sure you could bludgeon a man to death with a tea kettle - if you had sufficient reason,” he said sheepishly, lowering his hands. “Sorry. Truly, I didn’t mean to surprise you.“

“Don’t worry about it,” Cassandra grumbled. She turned around again, continuing to fill it with water.

“If… Uh, if it’s not too much trouble, would you be willing to fill that enough for two cups instead of one?”

She could find no logical reason to deny Dorian’s request, even though a more annoyed part of her desperately wanted to. “Fine.”

“Great. Thanks. By the way, I couldn’t help but notice that you look…”

Cassandra glanced at him, unsure how she felt about Dorian prying into her problems. “Disheveled?” she suggested.

“Like shit, actually.”

That got a quiet, half-amused snort out of her. “Very flattering, Dorian.”

“Well, you do!”

The kettle was full and Cassandra swiftly put it on the fire. “I pray you’re not expecting me to thank you for that observation.”

“No, no. I’m just, ah, very much inept when it comes to this sort of thing.”

“What sort of thing?”

“You know, the whole, emotional, confiding, I’m-here-for-you-as-a-friend business,” he elaborated. “Really not my area of expertise.”

“Oh, is _that_ what this is?” Cassandra turned around to face him, leaning back against the counter. “Leave me alone, Dorian. I’m sure you got up in the middle of the night and came here for reasons of your own, reasons which have nothing to do with me. Go do that instead.”

“The only thing I was doing was executing a bad idea,” Dorian replied sharply. “No, I like tea and pestering you much better.”

“I’m in no mood to be a _distraction_ for you, Dorian,” Cassandra informed him, irritated. Deciding she’d had enough of this, she pulled out a chair on the other end of the kitchen and sat down, hoping that was a clear enough distancing that Dorian would ignore her, or something.

Though she kept her eyes on the tea kettle, she watched Dorian from the corner of her eye. He sighed, scrubbing at the side of his face in frustration, and then made a fairly good show of pulling himself together. He grabbed a chair by Cassandra after another extended moment.

“Look, I’m not trying to make this about me; that’s just something I do naturally, constantly. Whatever I came here for, I’m trying to say that it’s not important, and I’m somewhat concerned about you. So you can ignore me, and I’ll grab some tea and be on my merry way. Or you can indulge my raging curiosity about what in the Maker’s name could be troubling you, and I’ll do my best to be… comforting? Let’s go with comforting. Or we could talk about _Hard in Hightown_ , I don’t really care. The point is, whatever I can do to help, do let me know, please, or at least ignore me until I get the picture.”

It was a ridiculous little speech, but it was genuine enough to soften Cassandra a little. She leaned back in her chair, allowing a little of the tension to drain out of her shoulders. “I understand,” she said quietly. “Unfortunately, I’m not sure anything but time and warm tea will help.”

Dorian nodded. “Hate that kind of thing. You just want to skip to the part where you’ve dealt with it and moved on, but it doesn’t work that way.”

“Yes,” Cassandra replied, sighing. She closed her eyes, fighting phantoms of attacking demons and a haunted steadiness in Varric’s eyes.

Other than a little hum of agreement, Dorian didn’t really reply. Cassandra remembered, after a moment, that Dorian had actually been there. She was used to thinking of that timeline as having never happened, but Dorian was actually part of that, had actually met her in that timeline and come back to tell the tale.

A strange thought, to say the least.

“May I ask you an… unusual question?” she said slowly.

“Yellow. Hands down. Can't stand it. Worst color ever made.”

Cassandra leveled a mild glare at him, and when he smiled and shrugged in apology, she continued. “Back at Redcliffe Castle, you went to that future.”

“Yes, I did. Terrible place. Very inhospitable. Glad we’ve managed to avoid it so far. Why?”

“What - what was I like there?”

Dorian raised his eyebrows. “You really want to know?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure? Because -”

“What part of ‘Seekers of Truth’ do people not understand?” Cassandra interrupted. “When I say I want to know, I mean it, even if the answers I seek are ugly ones. Yes, I am certain, please tell me.”

Dorian coughed. “Right. My apologies. Well…” Rubbing his chin, he gave the question some thought. “Knowing you now? Quiet,” he said at last. “We found you and you thought the dead were rising. We told you we could reverse time, and you were amazed. You’d given yourself up for dead, I think. The rest of the time, you were quiet. Without hope. Angry, but without the teeth for it, so to speak.”

It sounded right. Cassandra nodded, and belatedly said, "Thanks."

"No problem. Glad to be of mysterious, unexplained service."

Cassandra found herself amused beneath her weariness and distress. "Are you often of mysterious, unexplained service?" she asked, managing a tiny smile.

Dorian grinned at her, all teeth. "Not as often as I'd like."

"There you go, flirting again," Cassandra said, shaking her head slightly. "Why do you do that when you know nothing will come of it?"

Dorian faked a despondent look. "Truly? Is there no hope for our illicit love?"

“No.”

“You’re too cruel to my poor, pining heart, Lady Cassandra.”

“So you admit to pining away for me?”

“Oh…” Dorian fluttered his hand in the air. “Pining is a strong word, you know.”

Cassandra might have laughed, on a better night. “I see.”

“Yes, I thought you might.”

Their conversation dropped off a little, long enough that Cassandra found herself lost in memories again, and the smile slipped off her face. Though her belly was no longer hollow, her head and throat still ached, and it was easier to forget about those things while she talked. She startled when she heard bubbling, and she rose to tend to the water for their tea.

As Cassandra assembled their drinks, Dorian spoke up again. “Thank you for making the tea. I feel silly for imposing on you when you’re clearly… stressed.”

“It’s something I can do,” Cassandra responded quietly. “I appreciate being able to do things when I am helpless against something else.”

“Well, lucky you.” Dorian sighed. “Forgive me for flaunting my ghastly upbringing, but though I know how in theory, I’ve never made tea before anyway. So, thank you.”

“Because of the slaves?” It was one of those comments that came out sharper than she’d intended.

“Well - yes,” Dorian began, irritated, “but only because House Pavus is from Tevinter. If my family was powerful and wealthy in another country, the only difference would be that servants made my tea, instead.”

Cassandra cringed. She despised putting her foot in her mouth. “I didn’t mean to throw stones. It has been many years, but I should still remember that I was something of a noble brat, once. I owe you an apology.”

“It’s no trouble. Just making sure you slander me for the correct part of my upbringing.”

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes a little at that. “Remind me to show you how to make tea sometime.”

Dorian hesitated before replying. “If you mean that, then I’d appreciate it, actually,” he said, and he sounded genuine. Maybe her offer had taken him by surprise?

As she found a couple of cups for their tea in a cabinet, Cassandra kicked herself a little. His many faults aside, Dorian was one of very, very few Tevinters in Skyhold, and most of the others eschewed their place of birth - which made Dorian, interested in reforming his home country, a bit of an outcast among even them. And he did not know how to make himself tea. There was something about that which seemed off. Maybe Dorian gave the impression that he could fend for himself a little better than he actually could, and maybe fewer people in Skyhold had given him as warm a welcome as he needed.

“Cassandra?”

She’d been silent for a little too long. “Lost in thought,” she explained. She picked up their cups and brought them over, smiling a little. “Yes, I did mean that. Drag me away from my work some afternoon, how does that sound?”

“I can manage that,” Dorian said, grinning.

He started to bring the cup up to his lips. “Don’t -” Cassandra called out, but not quite early enough to save Dorian from singeing his lips. He nearly dropped the cup.

“Shit,” he cursed. He brought his hand up to his mouth and cast some kind of brief ice spell. Though it faded quickly, it seemed to soothe him.

“Sorry,” Cassandra said.

“No, it’s my own fault,” he admitted, wrinkling his lips a little with the lingering pain. “I should have known better.” He sighed. “I came down here hoping to… to get away from thinking about such fun things as my family and my failures. So much for that.”

“It’s just tea, Dorian.” She sighed as well. “You’ll learn. Next time, you won’t be so quick to pick up fresh tea. Another time after that, it might be tea you made yourself. Some things don’t change - families, unfortunately, are often one of them - but in many ways, things can only get better. We still have a future,” Cassandra said, staring into her teacup and hearing her own words. “We are lucky enough that we might be able to shape it into a form we like.”

Dorian laughed, after a moment. “You’re much better at the whole comforting thing than I am. I hardly even told you what was wrong, _and_ you’re in a much worse state than me.”

Cassandra caught Dorian’s eye and smiled. “But next time I think back on this night, instead of solely remembering nightmares of things I cannot change, I will also remember laughing at Dorian Pavus, who thoughtlessly burned himself on hot tea.”

“Hmph. _Well,_ then,” Dorian said, scowling (but trying not to smile). “At least this wasn’t a complete waste.”

“No, it was not. Thank you.” Picking up her tea, Cassandra got to her feet. “That said, I think I’m going to return to bed. Maker willing, I may even fall asleep.”

“Good luck, you’ll need it,” Dorian joked. “I’ll turn in soon, as well. Thank you for the company. I… I do hope you feel better in the morning. Really.”

“I appreciate that. Goodnight.”

“And to you.”

Cassandra went back to her chambers, tired and wrung out. The tea was helping a little, rehydrating and warming her, if nothing else.

No, she would not be okay by tomorrow.

There was too much she had yet to untangle, about her death, their sacrifice, that kiss. When she had thought of kissing him earlier, she thought a little darkly, that hadn’t been exactly what she meant.

She wanted a kiss with Varric, but not one she could have had in that other timeline. There, what they had was mired in the helplessness of their situation. It had been a kiss of desperation, of death, that they shared as their last rebellion towards a broken world.

It was reassuring, in a way, to realize that what she wanted now was different, new, something born of this world alone. She wanted the kind of kiss that was a dare, or a struggle. Something that still had that care and sweetness, but only underneath the challenge and fire. _That_ kind of kiss. A kiss that made her feel alive.

After that horrible memory, she could use reminders that she was alive. Her odd, fumbling friendship with Dorian was an unexpected help in that regard.

Cassandra drank the rest of her tea in bed, with _Hard in Hightown: Siege Harder_ propped up against her legs. She fell into some kind of sleep in the middle of a terrible chapter, bored by the writing, still wondering why this sequel was so bad.

-

It was the kind of morning where Cassandra was glad she had long ago trained her mind and body to move, without question, on her orders. Physically, she was alright, but mentally, she knew it would be a little while before she could put herself in some semblance of order again. Until then, she would probably spend most of the day with her emotions under her thumb, where they could not disturb her. It wouldn’t help her work through them, but hopefully, she wouldn’t spend most of the day staring blankly at various objects, either. Nobody except those closest to her would know the difference.

Whether others picked up on her wish to be alone or some outside force was responsible, Cassandra didn’t know, but nobody disturbed her for any reason other than preparations for assaulting Adamant. As a result, the day became fairly quiet and restful.

The exception to that rule was Cole. He wandered into the smithy sometime around the afternoon, startling her when he suddenly spoke up out of nowhere. “You’re doing the fog again,” he said. It almost sounded like a complaint. “Not as much, but you are.”

“Sorry, Cole. It doesn’t hurt you, does it? When I do this?”

“No, but I can’t help as much.”

“I’m not sure if this is one you can help with, anyway,” Cassandra said, sighing. “I learned very little that I did not already know, and I do not think there is anything to rationalize. There are only emotions to be worked through and accepted, in time.”

“But you said I don’t always have to help that way,” Cole replied, confused. “Can’t I help other ways?”

“Other ways?”

Cole nodded. “Person ways, or, or friend ways.”

He had a point there.

Somehow the conversation turned from there to _High in Hardtown_ , which was an interesting experience because Cole had read the book through a strange mixture of her reading and Varric’s writing, ferreting the story out through snippets of distressed thought and what Cole described as the people in Varric’s head. Cole was under strict orders, apparently, to avoid telling others anything Varric had not already written. The problem was that Cole wasn’t entirely sure what Varric had written and what he had not.

“He _likes_ Belladonna?”

Cole looked down. “Oh. Maybe that wasn’t one I should have said?”

“But he tricked her!”

“No, that’s not him.”

“That’s not… Maybe I should finish the sequel,” she said, shaking her head.

It was a nice talk, and Cassandra learned that Cole had excellent taste in fictional characters. He seemed to understand that they weren’t real but he treated them, in some ways, as if they were, and there were little things he knew about them that Varric probably knew about them, such as Guardsman Jevlan’s favorite flavor of jam, that never made it into the story. He liked Jevlan a lot, for reasons he would only partially disclose, and it amused her.

When Cole left and her day continued, it continued a little brighter.

Eventually Cassandra ended up alone in her room again, and once there, she let the fog lift, so to speak.

Almost instantly, she felt worse, much worse, still haunted by dreams. However, unmuting her emotions unmuted all of them - she felt her thankfulness for Cole’s help, and she felt more rested, satisfied at being productive. It wasn’t enough to offset the negative, but it was still nice.

Maybe tomorrow she would be better enough not to need the dampening to get through the day. She didn’t like being that way, not for long periods of time. It made her feel empty, like a non-person. She wasn’t herself.

After some relaxing, Cassandra fell asleep hoping she would not dream that night.

-

Early the next morning, Cassandra was outside, well-rested, and somber, but doing relatively well. She was getting in a few practice swings at a target when she heard some kind of commotion by the front gate.

Cassandra heard a shout, something like, “Varric, you ass, get down here!”

Well, Hawke was back.

Curious and amused, Cassandra sheathed her sword and headed over to the center of the courtyard. From a distance, she saw Varric leave the main hall and head down the first staircase, where he looked out and down, towards Skyhold’s gate. It was the first time she’d seen him since that terrible dream, and it was strangely anticlimactic, almost completely ordinary.

“What did I do now?” he yelled.

From her angle, Cassandra couldn’t see Hawke, but she didn’t really have to. “You owe me a sovereign!” she shouted.

“For what?”

“You know _exactly_ what!”

Cassandra saw Varric shift back and forth, grumbling. He reached into one of his pockets, took out a sovereign, and flipped it off the edge of the staircase. “Happy, you copper-clutching harpy?”

“Absolutely!”

Varric stomped right back up the stairs, probably muttering some gory threat under his breath.

It did Cassandra’s heart a bit of good to see him bickering with Hawke. Their friendship was strange, but somewhere underneath the grumbling, Cassandra was certain Varric was glad to see Hawke, and Hawke to see him.

Still, what a ridiculous way to make an entrance. With a small shake of her head, Cassandra approached the arch beneath the stairway. Hawke emerged from underneath, flipping the dropped sovereign up and down with one hand, and Alistair trailed behind her, slightly despairing.

“Welcome back to Skyhold,” Cassandra said in greeting.

“Kind of you to come greet me, Lady Cassandra,” Hawke replied with an eye-catching smile. “Sorry for the commotion. I hope we didn’t disturb you.”

Cassandra shook her head. “I’m just wondering what that bet was about, really.”

“Don’t ask,” Alistair grumbled. “She’ll only lie to you anyway.”

“You’re no fun,” Hawke said back at him. She turned to Cassandra, catching the sovereign and putting it away. “Unfortunately, we bring news of Adamant. Alistair’s suspicion was right.”

Alistair nodded. “They’re gathering there. Warden-Commander Clarel must have sent out word.”

“We should gather the others to hear this,” Cassandra said grimly. “We’ve already begun some preparations, but any details you can provide would be very helpful.”

“Then we’ll provide all we can,” Alistair responded.

“Would you rather rest first, or…?”

“No,” Hawke said. “I’d rather get this over with. I can give Alistair the grand tour and bug Varric after.”

Cassandra gave a small laugh. “Alistair, if Hawke’s tour of Skyhold is subpar, or you need anything else, feel free to ask anyone about my whereabouts, or ask for Josephine Montilyet - you’ll meet her soon. One of us should be able to ensure any of your needs are met.”

“Subpar? Varric’s gotten to you, hasn’t he,” Hawke muttered.

“ _Thank you_ for that kind invitation,” Alistair said, smiling and loudly drowning out Hawke’s mumblings. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Traitors, all of you.” Hawke rolled her eyes. “War room’s up the stairs here, second door on the left, right?”

“Yes, that’s right. I’ll fetch Cullen and send for someone to get Leliana and the Inquisitor, if you’re willing to wait there. You’ll see Josephine on your way.”

Hawke grinned. “You’ll be coming too, right?”

“Yes?”

“Good. I would hate to lack your company. See you again soon.” Hawke dashed around her and started hopping up the stairs.

Cassandra blinked, a little flustered. Was Hawke flirting with her?

“Sorry about Hawke,” Alistair said. “She’ll stop if you ask. She does have _some_ idea what boundaries are.” He jogged after Hawke.

That seemed like confirmation. Cassandra had no real reason to tell Hawke to stop; Hawke seemed to mean it even less than Iron Bull did with his flirting. But never mind. This was not important right now. Cassandra rubbed her forehead with her hand, deciding to deal with this later.

It took little time to retrieve Cullen, and on the way, she passed a couple of runners and asked them to find the others. It wasn’t long before they were all gathered in the war room. Lavellan was the last to arrive, and once she entered, they all got down to business.

As seemed to be her way, once things got serious, Hawke was very professional. She and Alistair were very clear, describing Adamant, its defenses, and what they could tell of the Wardens’ numbers in quick terms.

On the bright side, Adamant itself might be easy to take - it was old enough that modern trebuchets would likely put a nice dent in the ramparts, and Josephine said she would get to work right away on currying favor with a few Orlesian nobles who might have some to spare.

In less welcome news, though Alistair was able to approximate how many Wardens there were in total, the number of Wardens already at Adamant was anyone’s guess. It seemed like a good sign that Adamant’s walls had seemed guarded only sparsely by sentries, but there was no way to know for sure. They had also seen few signs of demon activity - almost none, if not for a small shower of lights coming from the keep at nighttime, reminiscent of the lights they had seen at the tower in the Western Approach.

They cobbled together a loose plan for the attack, hoping to solidify it over the coming days. The Inquisition had its target. It was, thankfully, not a long meeting. They all generally agreed on their course of action.

Lavellan pulled Cassandra aside afterwards. “I know it won’t be that helpful in Adamant itself, but I want our army riding in on better horses, if possible,” she said. “It should at least help our soldiers outside the fortress. We’ve already built watchtowers for the farms, as requested, but we haven’t found the source of the wolf problem, and Master Dennet won’t budge. Would you come help me nudge him?”

“Gladly, Inquisitor,” Cassandra replied.

“Great.” Lavellan smiled. “I’ll want to leave in a couple of days. I want to make sure things are running smoothly here, then give Dennet as much time as possible.”

“Good idea.”

“That’s what I hope.”

On her way out, Cassandra saw Varric and Hawke already chattering away, clearly catching up again after Hawke’s first, more covert visit to Skyhold. Thinking about it now, Cassandra cringed a little. The two of them hadn’t felt free to chit-chat in the middle of the hallway last time Hawke was here, staying mainly out on the ramparts or in other more private areas. Cassandra wondered how much of their previous discretion came from avoiding her ire.

She slipped past them quietly, leaving them to their laughter.

Cassandra could feel a veil of loneliness settling over her. Her thoughts took a dark direction as she returned to the practice targets, and she wasn’t sure how to shake it off. She was criticizing herself for her previous stubbornness, and the thought that Varric and Hawke were both alive to be happy like this had only reminded her of the world where Varric and Hawke had never spoken again.

Back in her corner of the courtyard, she tried taking a few swings at her targets, but she couldn’t muster the energy. Maybe a walk would help her shake this off? She sighed and started up the staircase to the top of the north wall.

It was a fair day in Skyhold: chilly as ever, but the sun still helped to warm things, and the castle always looked beautiful in the sunlight. Cassandra tried to clear her thoughts, knowing at least part of the reason darkness haunted her was because she was still dealing with the dream of her death.

She came to the end of the wall and headed down the stairs into the garden. There, the sight of the grasses and flowers calmed her slightly. In the shadows of the little gazebo, she saw Josephine and - and Lavellan, caught in a loose embrace and speaking softly to each other.

Surprised, Cassandra stopped moving and watched for a moment. Lavellan kissed Josephine’s cheek and left, holding Josephine’s hand until their fingers finally detangled by themselves. Josephine watched her go with a bright, happy smile, and one hand pressed to her cheek as if she’d never let that little kiss go.

Then Cassandra realized she was probably being rude, spying on Josephine like this. Embarrassed, she approached the gazebo. “Josephine?”

“Oh! Cassandra!” Josephine jumped slightly and brushed off her dress, plainly embarrassed. “Did you need something?”

“No,” Cassandra said, smiling slightly. “I just accidentally caught your - your moment with the Inquisitor.”

“Ah.” Josephine looked away. “We were just-”

“You don’t need to explain anything. I wanted to apologize for intruding.”

“Right. Thank you. It’s - very new.”

“Is this why you were so cheerful that other day?”

Cassandra couldn’t quite tell in this lighting, but Josephine might have been blushing. “Not… exactly. I, um, was only glad that Lavellan was back… Oh, Maker, I sound so… smitten.”

“You do,” Cassandra replied, remembering something Cole had said back in the Western Approach. He’d embarrassed Lavellan by talking about somebody’s smile. “If I’m not mistaken, you’re not the only one who’s smitten, though.”

“I’m not so sure…” Josephine demurred.

“No, she is, I’m certain of it. But that’s not my business. Good luck, Josephine. I hope the best for you two.” Cassandra gave Josephine a smile.

Whatever Josephine saw in that smile reassured her and unsettled her at once. She regained a little of her usual poise. “Thank you, Cassandra, but are you alright?”

“As well as can be. Why?”

“The phrase ‘as well as can be’ does not mean yes,” Josephine said sternly. “Here I am prattling about nothing important and you’re distressed. What’s wrong?”

Cassandra sighed. “Nothing time won’t fix.”

“And will time fix it faster if I do something about it?”

Unlike some others, it seemed as though Josephine was not inclined to drop the subject. Cassandra gave her a short glare. “Most likely not.”

“Not even if I drag you off for pointless talk and cookies? I’ve accumulated even more stories of noble blunders since our last chat, if you’re interested in hearing any of them.”

“You don’t give up, do you?” Cassandra sighed. “I fear for the Orlesian lord you pester in search of trebuchets.”

“That’s a yes, isn’t it?”

“Yes. It is.”

Josephine beamed. “Come on, Cassandra.” She turned towards the garden’s exit and bent her arm towards Cassandra.

With an indulgent sigh, Cassandra put her hand on Josephine’s arm and allowed herself to be escorted away like a fine lady. Josephine immediately struck up a conversation as they went, asking Cassandra if she’d heard of Ser Alain of Lydes’ recent gaffe.

They left through Skyhold’s main hall, which meant they passed Varric and Hawke again. Varric looked up, catching sight of their little escort. He stared at them in confusion, clearly wondering what was going on.

Cassandra later had no idea what spurred her to do it, except perhaps some foolish rush of confidence. She smiled and winked at Varric as she turned the corner. She didn’t see his reaction, as they were already turning down the hall to go to Josephine’s office, but a moment or two later, Hawke laughed loud enough that it echoed throughout the whole hallway. Cassandra quietly hoped it was because of Varric’s reaction, whatever it might have been.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm back, and yes, I've finished Dreaming Red at last! Only a little revision left to do. The remaining chapters will be posted regularly. Please enjoy!

Josephine’s stories truthfully taught Cassandra more names of the important nobility of Thedas than she had ever cared to learn before. Whether or not that knowledge was functional was another matter, of course. Sure, she vaguely knew who Bann Vighten was and what he had done with his wife’s best friend, but that didn’t exactly constitute a good conversation topic among most.

They also talked a little about Lavellan. Once she’d relaxed a little, it seemed like Josephine couldn’t help but babble about her. Cassandra found it sweet. It was a new love, young and almost courtly, from Josephine’s description. Nothing, she thought with a hint of envy, so complicated as her recent dealings with Varric.

Josephine picked up on that thought, or at least part of it. “I hadn’t expected you to be concerned about romance, but perhaps, after learning you’ve read _Swords & Shields_, I should have,” Josephine remarked.

“I likely shouldn’t be,” Cassandra muttered.

“What makes you say that?”

A few private thoughts she’d had many times over the past few years spilled out without her permission. “Most women my age are already married by now, particularly noble women. My… attitude usually puts off any suitors, and when it does not, it is usually because they want power in Nevarra, not me. Anybody else is either terrified of me or doesn’t want anything serious. I’ve often thought that the grand romance of my life has already passed me by. I would be fooling myself if I said my chances for such a thing weren’t falling with every passing day. That is what makes me say that.”

“Oh, Cassandra,” Josephine said, understanding. “Please don’t believe that. You’re wonderful. I am sure you will have your chance.”

“I am only trying to be realistic and say that it’s unlikely. I am not saying I have no hope, I promise.” Cassandra smiled slightly, hoping it was not a smile that would reveal too much. Leliana knowing where her interests lay was more than enough, for now.  

Whether Josephine picked up on nothing or chose not to press, Cassandra did not know, but Josephine was glad to hear her say that either way.

The rest of the day, Cassandra saw others, but never for very long. By the time she left Josephine’s office Hawke and Varric had already disappeared, likely off to gossip about Maker-knew-what, Maker-knew-where. The rest of her day was consumed in preparations and work, and she dropped into bed late that night, completely exhausted.

-

She dreamed of something early, some cold, dull night in that cell where Varric saw fit to tell her tales. “They say coin never sleeps,” he began, “but anyone who’s walked the patrol of Hightown Market at midnight might disagree.”

“Is that true?”

“Well, a half step away in the residential districts, could get a little rowdier. Gangs would roam at night, sometimes the Coterie, sometimes their rivals, sometimes the random upstart gang of the week - who knew? But Hightown Market itself was all too quiet after dark, absent of legal trade and under-the-table barter alike…”

-

The next day she was back to herself, except in the cracks between moments, where just a touch of melancholy could subdue her, briefly. Cassandra gave that melancholy no quarter. It was little trouble; early in the morning Cassandra discovered that a new recruit out of Val Foret (apparently, they were getting Orlesians, now) had accidentally miscounted their inventory of shields. The scolding she gave him was enough to keep her energy up for the rest of the day. There was nothing quite like simmering anger to keep one’s troubles at bay.

To her surprise, Varric showed up, Hawkeless, late in the day.

There was a little swagger in his step as he came over, from the staircase, and he wore a smile on his face that spoke of mischief. “Afternoon, Seeker.”

“What is it?” she asked with a long sigh.

“So accusing!” Varric gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. “Have I offended you already?”

At what point had she gone from frowning at his antics to resisting the urge to smile at them? “I am only surprised that Hawke is not presently affixed to your hip,” she explained.

“Sadly, she was called away by important duties,” Varric replied, leaning over the edge of a chair. “And by important duties, I mean that Alistair got a peek at a letter to the Inquisitor from the Hero of Ferelden, and he started gushing, and Hawke has decided to tease him about it, mercilessly, for the next, I don’t know, three hours or so.”

“So for the next ‘three hours or so,’ you’re a free man, and for some reason you come to me? Why?”

Varric grinned and pulled out a deck, waving it in his hand. “I take my commitments seriously, Seeker. Up for some practice?”

“Here? Now?”

“Sure! Unless you have any reason we shouldn’t?”

No good reason, no. But there was a security net last time, playing in the Herald’s Rest, in the public eye. Here, over the smithy, was more private. In private, Cassandra somewhat feared that things could get out of hand. Cassandra tapped her fingers on the table, thinking, hoping to find any good reason at all.

She found none, of course.

“Very well,” she replied, resigned. She began to stack up papers, creating a playing area for them.

“Don’t get all excited at once,” Varric muttered.

“Yes,” Cassandra added, “Because I should certainly look forward to once again displaying my ignorance to an expert of this game.”

That cheered him up a little. “When you put it that way, maybe I see your point.”

“You just like that I’ve flattered you.”

“Probably.” Varric dropped himself into the chair and started shuffling the deck. “I’m going to mark that on the calendar. Dear diary: today, Seeker Lady Cassandra Too Many Names Pentaghast gave me a compliment.”

Cassandra snorted, and wondered when and how he’d found out about her middle names. “Don’t expect a repeat any time soon.”

“Wouldn’t dare.” He dealt them each a hand, while Cassandra crossed her arms and leaned against the table. “You want to try a little review session first, or should we jump right in?”

“What, a real match?”

“No bets, of course.” Varric grinned. “I won’t take your hard-earned coin for just a little practice.”

Cassandra frowned. “Coin isn’t the only kind of bet though, is it?”

“Of course not,” Varric replied easily, spreading his cards between his hands. “But the only other common one I can think of is clothes, and I never play strip unless I’ve had at least three good drinks.”

It was a minor miracle that Varric was looking at his cards, and not her face. Cassandra swallowed. She already knew Varric, in a state of dying, was a fairly good kisser, and she could only imagine how that extended to a Varric who was not dying. Her mind had not made it past the question of kissing until that moment.

Maker’s breath.

Cassandra glanced at her cards, and, hoping he didn’t read into her pause too much, she asked, “So few?”

He grinned over his cards. “You yourself called me an expert, Seeker. You oughta know that I’m not usually the one who ends up all that naked.”

“I feel bad for your opponents,” Cassandra replied, focusing very, very hard on her terrible hand. If she looked at him, she would probably blush and it would all be over.

Varric chuckled. “Got a good hand, Seeker?”

“We’ll just have to see, won’t we?” she asked.

She did not have a good hand.

Nor did it get any better.

Minutes later, she dropped her cards against the table, sighing. “I have no idea what my score is, or what’s in your hand. I fold.”

“That’s a shame,” Varric said, dropping his hand as well. “Looks like you were winning.”

“I was?”

“You’re hopeless,” he said, but he said it with a grin that was nearly as sweet as it was teasing, and gentle eyes. He realized it quickly and covered badly by rolling his eyes, and Cassandra felt a frisson of something dart down her spine.

“Whatever happened to my potential as a player?”

“Okay, not hopeless. But very close to it. Maybe you just need to trust your instincts more.”

“My instincts?” Cassandra asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I have them when it comes to card games.”

“No, not that. About your opponent. You can’t tell me you don’t have at least the slightest inkling of when I’m lying?”

“You’re very hard to read,” she admitted. “I’m never quite sure if I know what you’re really thinking. You make things easy to believe.”

The comment gave him pause. She was being very, very truthful about that, and he could probably tell. “Well, you’re… you’re harder to read than you probably think, Seeker. I mean, about things that make you mad? Not hard to tell, you get a little, well, ‘stabbing.’ But anything short of that, it’s harder to know. For someone who’s always refreshingly honest, you also always seem like you have all these little secrets tucked away.”

That, too, was very truthful, or so she thought. It was not inaccurate, either. She carried with her secrets of the Chantry, the Seekers, and the secret of her dreams, of course.

Avoiding the subject, she asked, “Since when does a man like you think of honesty as ‘refreshing,’ anyway?”

He smiled at her with that amused light in his eyes. “I’ll have you know I treasure the quality of honesty. It’s just also not a quality that I actually have.”

“I don’t know about that,” Cassandra mused. “You’re perfectly capable of honesty. You just seem to prefer avoiding it most of the time.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But you know, brutal honesty and constant lying do have one thing in common, something I like about them both.” He was clearly leading up to something, leaning over the table, ready to deliver his punchline.

“What might that be?” Cassandra asked, leaning in a little as well.

Varric’s grin was sharp enough to cut. “They both really piss noble assholes off.”

She couldn’t help it; she burst into laughter, covering her mouth with one hand. She had never quite seen her own honesty that way, but it was very, very true.

“A compliment and a laugh?” Varric started laughing as well. “Andraste’s granny-panties, two impossibilities in one day!”

Cassandra collected her fallen cards in one hand and slid them at Varric. “Maybe you need to rethink your definition of impossible,” she suggested, smiling. Flirting? Yes, definitely, intentionally, absolutely flirting.

She’d surprised him. For a moment, he looked as though he couldn’t believe her, but then he simply rose his eyebrows and started collecting all their cards. “Yes,” he said, “maybe I do. Another round?”

“Remind me again - do knights trump drakes?”

“Come on, Seeker. That one’s easy. Can you imagine Curly pointing a sword at a dragon and living?”

“Depends. Am I there?”

“You know, one of these days, you’re gonna have to tell me that story about you and those dragons in Val Royeaux.” Varric shuffled the deck as he spoke. “The real story - none of the bravery or the grandeur, not the version I’m sure you hate. The version of it where all you’re thinking is ‘Shit! Shit!’ over and over again.”

Cassandra crossed her arms. “I am not a good storyteller.”

“Hey, I’m not saying right now.” Varric shrugged, playing innocent. “Look, you’ve already got most of my good stories. I’m just saying one day I might like to have one of yours.”

“We’ll see,” Cassandra told him.

It was strange to hear him talk about “one day.” All dancing around aside, it meant they had a future as friends, if nothing else. But she met his eyes as he dealt her a new hand, and she was fairly certain they were heading quickly towards that something else.

-

Despite Cassandra’s worries, or hopes, nothing untoward happened during her Wicked Grace practice with Varric that day. But it was probably a near thing. She’d never had a more charged afternoon in her entire life, full of glances and touches and words that were just on the on precipice of becoming something real. She was glad nothing had happened - all of this was so sudden, though felt like it had been building, far beneath her notice, for months.

It was not even slightly a question of whether Varric was interested, it was now only how and why, and the hope that it would not blow up in their faces. An exciting place to be, in a terrifying sense.

Cassandra put her arms on the table, closed her eyes, and dropped her head to the wood. “Ugh.”

“You’re getting better, Seeker! You just…”

“Still cannot win a hand for my life?”

“Yep. Definitely should have started with Shepard’s Six,” Varric joked. He scooped up his cards. “But, on that note, I think I’ll go find Hawke again. She’s bound to have finished up tormenting Alistair by now.”

Without moving her arms, Cassandra looked up. “Not to judge, but don’t you have right up until we take Adamant to talk to her?”

Varric got out of his chair. “Afraid not. Lavellan shouted, ‘Hey, have you fought wolves before?’ at me this morning. Looks like I’m headed out to the ass-end of nowhere for a little while.”

Cassandra smiled. “The Inquisitor probably thinks you two are best separated. With so much time together, you might plot to overthrow her.”

“Ha, ha. Funny, Seeker. Neither of us could stand the amount of religious bullshit that gets sent the Herald of Andraste’s way - uh, no offense to religion, in general.”

“Yes, I knew what you meant. The ones who would fall at her feet and ask that she bless their newborn child. I took no offense.” She smirked a little. “Besides, I know your dirty little secret, Varric.”

Varric laughed. “You’re going to have to clarify. I have several.”

“The one where you truly believe?”

“Oh, that one. Wait - are you saying being Andrastian gives me a free pass to spout blasphemy around you?” he asked, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise.

“Don’t push it,” Cassandra advised.

He held up his hands in surrender, though the effect was somewhat marred by the deck of cards in one hand. “Message received. So, I’ll see you when I’m back from the Hinterlands.”

“You realize I’m going too?”

Varric was half-turned away, leaving, when he stopped cold and turned his head around. “You are?”

“The Inquisitor thought I might be useful for persuading Master Dennet to come work for us.”

“Huh.” Varric grinned. “Then I’ll see you soon?”

“See you soon,” Cassandra replied, “and make sure you pack that deck.”

Varric winked and left, while Cassandra shook her head as he left, hopefully somewhat concealing a smile.

Maker, she was doomed.

-

Cassandra did not sleep well that night, dealing with a dream which was mired, for the most part, in the pain of red lyrium trying to conquer her. She finished packing and got on the road, but her energy quickly ran out after that. Fortunately, she was not alone in that regard. Varric and Vivienne were both wide awake and chatting (something about Varric’s books, she thought), but she and Lavellan were able to stick together in sleepy, anti-social silence. It made for a quiet, slightly miserable morning.

It was a quiet ride to the Hinterlands, for the most part. She and Varric did not find a moment to play any more Wicked Grace, but they and the others still managed to fill time with cheerful, aimless chatter.

Varric, as always, found ways to get (infuriatingly, endearingly) on her nerves.

“I spy with my little eye…”

“No,” she interrupted.

“Oh, come now, Seeker. I’m just trying to be friendly.”

“Absolutely not.”

“No? Really? You should be good at finding things. Then again… You couldn’t find Hawke.”

Cassandra sighed. “Are you going to hold that over my head for all eternity?”

“All eternity? Don’t be ridiculous! That one’s just going to be around for a little while. The part where you stabbed my book, that’s the one I’m holding over your head for all eternity.”

“Grand.”

“You just don’t stab someone’s book, Seeker! It’s a terrible waste of paper, ink, and hard work.”

“And I’m sure Cassandra is very sorry,” Vivienne interrupted, trying to defuse things. “Aren’t you, darling?”

Cassandra smiled. Varric was not the only one who could tease. “No, actually. I still feel fairly justified in that.”

Varric stared at her, then turned to Vivienne. “Seriously? Are you hearing this?”

“It was my book, to do with as I wished. And I wished to stab it to make a point, so I did.”

“Heartless,” Varric proclaimed. “Completely heartless.”

Vivienne slowly looked from Cassandra to Varric and back again, and then, catching Cassandra’s eye, tilted her head just so. Cassandra met her gaze calmly, silently daring her to speak whatever she was thinking out loud.

Perhaps it was for the best that Vivienne did not take her dare. Without further comment or pointed glance, she turned her gaze away. “Cassandra is a kind and pious woman, Varric. If she says she was justified in stabbing one of your little stories, I think that is likely to have been true.”

“Thank you,” Cassandra said, deliberately speaking over Varric’s despairing groan.

“Any time, of course,” Vivienne replied airily.

Varric sighed. “Inquisitor? You’ll come defend my good honor, won’t you?”

It was clear that Lavellan hadn’t been listening. Her thoughts were elsewhere, maybe on Josephine from the somewhat blissful look on her face. “What? Oh.” She furrowed her brow in thought. “What good honor?”

At that point, Vivienne and Cassandra started chuckling. Varric threatened to go straight back to Skyhold and hang around with Hawke, where he was actually appreciated.

“Why’d you bring me, anyway?” Varric asked Lavellan at one point. “Vivienne and Cassandra I get, but me? What do I have to do with Master Dennet and Redcliffe’s pest control problem?”

“Maybe I just wanted your company, or at least, I hoped that I wouldn’t return to Skyhold to find you and Hawke had burned it all down in my absence,” Lavellan joked.

“We would _not_ burn Skyhold down. Singe it a little, but not burn it down. It’s mostly stone.”

Lavellan only laughed.

They arrived in the Hinterlands at night and crashed in the camp nearest Redcliffe’s farmland before too long. Cassandra cracked open _Siege Harder_ , but lost interest again within a few pages, and fell asleep.

-

“Here’s the plan,” Lavellan laid out in the morning. “There’s a rift north of here and a rift east of here, on the river. We’ll take out the river rift and search around there for the wolves - they seem to be coming from somewhere in that direction. Once we’ve figured out some way to take care of them, we’ll come back, close the north rift, wrap things up here, and hopefully bring Master Dennet and his horses back with us to Skyhold. Easy.”

“Does it disturb anybody else that we’ve moved to a point in our lives where taking out two rifts in a row is considered ‘easy?’” Varric asked.

“Not really,” Cassandra said, and at the same time, she heard Vivienne reply, “Not at all.”

Varric stared at them. “I’m not going to win a single argument on this trip, am I?”

“Best give up while it’s easy to lie to yourself that you’re ahead,” Vivienne advised, smiling condescendingly. Cassandra did not quite stoop to her level, carefully maintaining an almost neutral expression.

“Anyway,” Lavellan interrupted, “shall we head out?”

With little further fanfare, they did.

The walk over to the river rift was a short one, with little time for chatter. The rift was positioned high above the water, thankfully over a shallow part of the stream. Cassandra had her shield out and charged a demon the moment one had appeared - the wraith fell quickly, and Lavellan shouted at her, pointing out a terror that could better occupy her time.

Before Cassandra could take more than a couple steps in its direction, it disappeared, then reappeared beneath her feet. Cassandra fell to the ground, off-balance, and groaned; her helmet hit the slick riverbed rock and it rattled her silly, for a moment.

When her senses returned she got to her feet and shoved her shield at the demon’s chest, knocking it back and taking petty revenge - at which point another attacked her. Cassandra could feel her anger brewing. This was going to be a very satisfying win.

Cassandra did her best to keep the terrors occupied. She could take hits which she knew her flimsier companions could not, and while they attacked her, they could not knock down either of their unarmored mages. Vivienne’s ice magic was great help, slowing the creatures’ motions, which made it easier for her to dodge a few swipes. Lavellan and Varric mostly concentrated on the despair demon, which she was thankful for.

One terror fell, and then, with a crack of Lavellan’s lightning, the other went down after it.

But then the rift spat out more terrors, and this time, two despair demons, which all but ensured that she would end up chilled by their ice magic.

Fantastic.

The strategy was much the same, and the fight didn’t take too long, but by the end of it Cassandra had been tossed around more than once, and the cold of the despair demon’s magic clung to her still.

As Lavellan shut the rift for good, Cassandra quickly drank a health potion and shuddered with the brief burst of warmth and energy it gave. It helped, but she was still a little chilly, and not exactly in a good mood. Her saving grace was that she was not alone. The others looked equally displeased.

“Well, that was fun,” Varric muttered. “Can we not repeat it?”

“We still have the rift to the north of the farms,” Cassandra wearily reminded him.

“Can’t we just skip it for now?”

Vivienne sighed. “We bring with us the only person in all Thedas capable of closing those rifts, to our knowledge. No, it cannot wait.”

“Blah, blah, innocents could get hurt, yeah, I know.” Varric put Bianca away. “I’d just like to avoid seeing a despair demon for, I don’t know, the rest of my life?”

“Seconded,” Lavellan murmured, and for whatever reason that shut Varric up.

They began trudging up the east bank of the river, hoping to find any sign of wolves. On the way, Cassandra decided to ask a question that had been bothering her on and off for ages.

“Varric?”

“Hmm?”

“Why is the second _Hard in Hightown_ so completely different,” she said, hoping to be diplomatic, “from the first?”

Varric let out a very long sigh. “Because I didn’t write it.” Cassandra turned to stare at him as it clicked into place, explaining _everything_. “Shit, did you pay actual coin for that book? One of these days, I’m going to find the duster who wrote that garbage and introduce him to my editor.”

Cassandra frowned. “By editor, do you mean your crossbow?”

“No, my actual editor!” The question seemed to cheer Varric up a little and his words picked up speed as he spoke. “Best in the business. She runs half the Coterie in Kirkwall. Stickler for grammar - she once killed a man over a semicolon. I’d never print anything without her.”

Chewing that over, Cassandra nodded slowly. “So by editor, do you mean _her_ crossbow?”

Varric smiled and shrugged, trying very, very little to look innocent. “I probably shouldn’t tell you that. Anyway, that’s your answer. Not a single copper of _Siege Harder_ goes to me, just all the credit for a low quality knock-off. You wouldn’t believe the slander I’ve gotten from people who thought I’d _actually_ have Donnen trick Belladonna out of the Dragon’s Jewels. Yikes.”

“I would be lying if I said that wasn’t a great relief,” Cassandra replied, giving him a small smile. “I could hardly believe that he would stoop so low.”

“Well,” Varric said with a grin, “I’d tell you what really happens after the first one, but there’s still a chance I’ll write a sequel to counter that cheater making money off my work, so I’d better keep it to myself.”

“Not even a hint, dear?” Vivienne asked. Cassandra suppressed an instinct to jump. She’d nearly forgotten that VIvienne or the Inquisitor might be listening in.

“Afraid not. Wait - Iron Lady, are you saying _you’ve_ read _Hard in Hightown_!?” Varric asked Vivienne, disbelieving.

“Yes, of course. Most of the Imperial court has. It was in fashion a few winters ago.”

Varric laughed, annoyed and surprised. “I was told my work hasn’t been selling in Orlais. Just how much gold is my publisher stealing from me?”

“Heads up,” Lavellan suddenly shouted, pulling out her staff.  

Cassandra drew her sword even before she spotted what the Inquisitor had seen: a pack of vicious wolves headed in their direction. Though frightening and violent, they posed little problem for their team. Lavellan shocked most of them into pause, giving their team an opening. Cassandra beat down one and let Vivienne do the rest while she swung at another, knocking it back as well.

Once the wolves around her were dead, Cassandra stepped back. Varric and Vivienne killed the final wolf with a freezing spell and an explosive bolt.

Varric lowered Bianca, though only slightly. “Well, that was a rude interruption,” he muttered. “Think we’ll find more of them?”

“Isn’t that the point?” Lavellan quipped. She kept her staff out as they approached the passage to the northeast.

They wasted little time after that. In the wolves’ lair (as it unsurprisingly turned out to be) they found the remaining wolves, and at their center there was a terror. It explained the wolves’ ferocity quite well. Only after the wolves were dead did she find a moment to slide her blade through the terror’s chest, ending its rule over their pack. With any luck, any wolves who had left the pack’s lair would be freed, now.

“With the demon dead, the villagers should be safe from the wolves,” she murmured, not happily.

“I’m glad we’ll be able to deliver Elaina good news,” the Inquisitor replied, sighing. “Come on. We still have another rift to close.”

Cassandra lingered at the rear of the party as they left, unsettled for reasons she couldn’t quite name.

“Everything alright, Seeker?” Varric asked. Cassandra glanced up and found that he had hung back a little.

Taking a brief moment to be certain of her reply, she said simply, “Yes.”

“Right, just run of the mill contemplation of life, then?”

Cassandra exhaled slowly. “I don’t know. Something about that demon’s control over the wolves, maybe.” She grimaced. “Perhaps because I am immune to such things as a Seeker, I feel for innocent people and creatures who get caught up in matters of possession. I wish there could have been another way.”

“There wasn’t. Maybe if we had found the demon beforehand or knew more about wolves, but we couldn’t have found out about it, and last I checked, we don’t have any wolf experts in Skyhold.”

Cassandra shook her head. “I know that there was nothing else to be done. But, thank you, Varric.”

Varric chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Any time.” He turned back and jogged a bit to catch up with the others. Cassandra opted not to, thoughtfully watching him go, instead.

-

They made short work of the other rift, which, lacking as many despair demons, was considerably less irritating than the first. Lavellan was able to tell Elaina that the wolves were dead after that, and before long they had Master Dennet agreeing to send the Inquisition his finest horses for their cause. It was clear to Cassandra that he was a good man, whose only intention really had been to ensure his home was secure before he agreed to anything more.

Lavellan gave her a cue asking for her assistance, and Cassandra drew on what she believed would sway his mind. “Are you Andrastian?” she asked. “This is a matter of faith. The Maker would want the best to join us.”

“I’ve heard some things about you lot,” Dennet hedged. “Can’t say I’m not interested in what it all means… Alright, Inquisition. I’ll look to your horses myself. Never let it be said that Redcliffe gave less than the best.”

It was a good way to wrap up to a successful day.

In their few spare hours before they left the Hinterlands, she and Varric found a little time for Wicked Grace. There was a hill overlooking the campsite, and just past the newly-built watchtower, they found a patch of ground to sit down and play for a while.

Cassandra lost, as usual, but Varric found a way to cheer her up nonetheless.

In all this, Cassandra couldn’t help but observe that Varric was on his best behavior. That was, of course, a relative term with Varric, as he still needled her constantly, throwing insults her way that only ever had bite to them when she’d stepped over a line. But, he was keeping a careful distance, and he had avoided flirting with her. Maybe he had taken some cue she had subconsciously given in that regard, or maybe it was just something he had the sense to do, but either way, it was a choice she appreciated and respected.

They left the camp that evening, hoping to be back at Skyhold ahead of Master Dennet so that all would be prepared for his arrival. Cassandra felt somewhat relaxed. They had done good work, and this might be one of her last breaks before the Inquisition tried yet again to accomplish the impossible: taking down the Grey Wardens. She had a feeling she would need to make use of every opportunity for rest she could get.

So, when Vivienne approached her, out of earshot of the others, during the ride home, she was off her guard.

“May I speak with you for a moment?”

Cassandra glanced at her. “Of course.”

“I just wanted to make sure you were being careful.”

Puzzled, Cassandra frowned.

“With Varric?” Vivienne gave one of her most winning smiles, one Cassandra had no doubt she had perfected in court, for it was poison. It paralyzed her in an instant. “I’m not saying I don’t approve. I simply wouldn’t want you stumbling into such a thing unprepared, my dear.”

Cassandra opened her mouth to reply and found she had lost the words.


	14. Chapter 14

Vivienne tilted her head slightly and raised an eyebrow. “Unless you were completely unaware…?”

Cassandra closed her lips and cleared her throat, shaking off her surprise. “No,” she said, struggling to find what she wanted to say. “I hoped… I hoped no one would notice, just yet.”

Vivienne smiled. “I wouldn’t worry. You’re discreet by most people’s standards. The Inquisitor, for example, has only noticed that you two have started getting along better. She has no idea. But then, I might have been clueless as well, were I not looking for it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You and Varric. Did you think I was joking, that night at the party, when I quoted at you about matters of love and hate? You may have been pulling a little prank with Leliana, but I wasn’t so convinced my guess was so far afield. Then Varric disappeared into your smithy for a little while not so long ago, and you two disappeared together again here…”

Cassandra hoped she wasn’t blushing. She wasn’t sure. “It’s… not that,” she muttered. “It’s Wicked Grace.”

“I’m sure, darling.”

“I am serious. He is teaching me to play Wicked Grace.”

Vivienne laughed. “Really? How unexpected. But there is _something_ , isn’t there? You’ve essentially admitted as much.”

“There isn’t, but if things continue as they have been… Well…” Cassandra glanced away, shrugging. “It - it won’t be long.”

“Ah. Well, good luck, my dear. You’ve got many obstacles ahead of you, you know.”

That was not a word Cassandra had been expecting to hear. “Obstacles?”

“Yes, obstacles. Though your obstinate nature may brush many of them aside without a care, they _do_ still exist.”

“I… don’t take your meaning,” Cassandra said truthfully.

“Well, for one, in most political circles, you’ll be committing official social suicide,” Vivienne replied. She sighed, looking to the sky almost longingly. “Or at least, effective social suicide. One _could_ climb back up, but it would take a great deal of skill, _almost_ more than I, for one, possess. So, thus ends any chance of a good name in high places. Not that you’re concerned with such things, but still, a shame.”

Cassandra almost laughed. “More a shame for others than me, I think.”

Vivienne sighed, clearly mourning what she saw as the death of Cassandra’s potential in the Game. Perhaps now she would finally give up on that foolish notion. “Then,” Vivienne continued, returning her focus to Cassandra, “you must consider that the two of you could have different expectations. You, my dear, are a grand romantic. You want the full experience. Can Varric give you that? In my opinion, yes, but _will_ he?”

“Perhaps not right away, but I believe so, yes,” Cassandra said quietly, evenly.

Briefly, Vivienne appeared taken aback, surprised at her sincerity. She pressed onward through it. “And of course, most uncertain of all, there’s the matter of that mysterious Bianca. There’s no telling who she really is, whether she has died or yet lives. Whoever she is, there is only one guarantee: she is a possible complication.”

That one took Cassandra by surprise. She had not given Bianca much thought since the first time she’d heard the name. Bianca was his crossbow, the story Varric could never tell, for whatever reason. At the time she had no reason to consider it further than that, and put the matter aside. Vivienne was right: Bianca was an unknown.

But whoever she was, she was currently absent from Varric’s life, and Cassandra already knew that Varric could… give his heart away. To her.

The thought settled her. She met Vivienne’s eyes again.

“What is happening now, is happening now. Varric may be an occasional liar, but he would not cheat - he is loyal to those he cares for, through and through. So whoever she is, she may turn up as a complication, yes, but if so, it doesn’t matter. If what we have is something real, then…” Cassandra exhaled slowly. “Then I’m sure we will weather that storm.”

Vivienne didn’t reply for a moment, keeping a neutral expression - though, on her face, such a neutral expression was closer to a slab of grim, forbidding stone. But Vivienne slowly gave Cassandra a soft, understanding smile. “I wish you well, Cassandra. You’re going into this with a steadier head than I could have hoped for. That man is absolutely head over heels for you, you know. Do well by him, as he will do by you.”

Without thinking, Cassandra asked, “Were you _testing_ me?”

“Of course. Would you rather I coddled you about the matter?” Vivienne raised her chin. “Though the other two did not disturb you, I was able to help you prepare for one possible future issue you had not considered. I only wanted to be sure that you would not set yourself up for heartbreak, my dear Cassandra.”

Cassandra’s temper flared slightly at the thought that she had been manipulated, in a sense, but she brushed it aside. “Thank you,” she said, a little begrudgingly. “Though please forgive me if I appreciate your thoughtfulness more later, when I’ve had time to think about it.” She paused, hesitated, knowing she would probably regret asking her next question. “Head over heels? Really?”

“My, and you were so certain a moment ago,” Vivienne teased. “Yes, head over heels. You haven’t seen the look he gives you when your gaze is directed elsewhere. Give him the chance and he’ll give you his world.”

“I… thought so,” Cassandra said, “but I wasn’t sure if I was only seeing what I wanted to see, and…”

“Rest assured, my dear, that you were not. Varric is subtle when he wants to be, but unfortunately for him, I’m subtler - and usually right.”

Vivienne moved away at that point, a self-satisfied smile resting comfortably on her features. Cassandra thought that she would never in a hundred ages come to understand exactly how Vivienne worked, but she was oddly thankful for her friendship all the same.

-

Their return to Skyhold came with little fanfare. Skyhold was full of bustling people, hurrying from tower to tower, practicing their arms, or whatever it was they needed to do. In the midst of this clamor, the return of the Inquisitor and her escort was only a footnote, another task on the day’s to-do list at most. Lavellan wasted little time, leaving almost immediately to confer with her advisors.

Cassandra figured she ought to follow Lavellan’s lead and get to it. Although their trip to the Hinterlands had been quick, any drop of time she could give to the Inquisition was precious now. She spared a quick moment to say farewell to Vivienne and Varric, though Varric made her promise that she would find him in her free time, or else he’d drag her off to take a break himself. She agreed, though not without an eyeroll and several toothless retorts.

Then, she went to work.

-

After the move to Skyhold and Lavellan’s official appointment as Inquisitor, Cassandra had lost a few of her duties as a leader of the Inquisition. Though she was still Lavellan’s advisor, she did not always perform the same services which Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine had claimed. Somehow she had found herself in a unique role without a name, meddling mainly in matters technically under Cullen’s jurisdiction, but with a fair bit of crossover in running Skyhold in general, tracking information, and coordinating some of the Inquisition’s aims and movements.

As a result, the tasks which fell to her shoulders were generally unpredictable and could either confine her to a desk or send her all across Skyhold getting things done. Preparations for Adamant seemed to be mostly of the second kind, particularly since settling Master Dennet into place had fallen mostly to her. Once she’d caught up with the information piled on her desk, Cassandra found herself bouncing from one part of the castle to another: Leliana’s tower to Josephine’s cozy hallway, Master Dennet’s new post by the stables to Cullen’s little outpost, and all the way around again.

Solas caught her attention on her way down from a quick chat with Leliana. “Cassandra, do you have a moment?”

“Solas,” Cassandra said, nodding in greeting. “What’s going on?”

“Not much.” Solas folded his hands behind his back and lowered his voice a little, so that it would not carry up to the library. “I thought I could give you a brief update on the dream situation.”

Confused, Cassandra asked, “An update?”

“Yes. I’m told it was your suggestion that I confer with Leliana about it?”

“Oh - right. May I assume you learned something?”

“Unfortunately, for the most part, no.” Solas frowned. “I had assumed those dreams were caused by the red lyrium somehow. Lyrium’s link to dreams and the fade has always been understood in vague terms, at best…”

Cassandra sighed, sensing a long explanation coming on. She wasn’t sure she had the time for it. “Get to the point, Solas.”

“Right. To summarize, it can’t be the red lyrium. Leliana is dreaming too, and her situation was… different, as you already know. I maintain my theory that your memories are imprinted in the Fade, but that doesn’t explain how you and Leliana have consistently found them night after night. With your permission - I already have Leliana’s - I would like to try to track down your memories in the Fade, and see if that bears any answers. I might see or sense glimpses of what happened there, though I would do my best to avoid any prolonged contact, so to speak - which is why I ask your permission.”

Cassandra nodded. “Then you have it.”

“So quickly?” Solas asked, surprised.

“You clearly respect my privacy. Truthfully, you would be doing us a favor if you discovered anything, and I cannot think of any secrets you might learn which I would not trust you with,” she said simply. Of course, he would likely find out about her relationship with Varric, but he was not the type to gossip.

“You give your trust easily,” he murmured.

Cassandra frowned. “I certainly do not think so. You have proven yourself to me, as all do before they earn my trust.”

“Perhaps it just feels that way to me, then.” He took a deep breath. “Thank you. I’ll begin looking.”

“Good luck. Don’t put yourself at any risk.”

“I don’t expect to,” Solas replied. “Have a good day, Cassandra.”

“You as well.”

Cassandra continued on, heading straight back to her duties.

She collapsed into bed that night with _Swords & Shields_, giving up on that fake sequel to _Hard in Hightown_ for good. Even so, she didn’t even make it a chapter in before she fell asleep, exhausted.

-

The week continued in a similar vein. Her dreams were the same as always. She either dreamed of dying in purgatory with Varric, or of the intense pain of red lyrium trying to consume her whole, or she dreamed of nothing at all.

Cassandra saw others intermittently, but never for very long. She kept her promise to Varric and sought him out on an afternoon when her personal chaos had receded a little, and they played a few hands, all of which she lost as usual. It was a short break, unfortunately. Leliana interrupted at one point, smiling a bit too knowingly, and sadly dragged Cassandra away to other things.

“Next time,” Varric said, “I guess we’ll just have to play somewhere where we won’t get interrupted.”

“Does such a place even exist?” Cassandra asked.

He grinned and winked at her. “Oh, I’ll find one.”

She had no doubt of it.

Later in the week, Cassandra was heading out of Cullen’s office with a small stack of reports tucked under her shoulder. Her mind was elsewhere - still trying to memorize their shoddy map of Adamant, maybe, or focused on Josephine’s news that she might have found trebuchets, or some other thing Cassandra entirely forgot about when she ran into Hawke in the most literal sense.

Cassandra tripped against Hawke’s feet and managed to catch herself as she fell, but the reports in her hand scattered on the ground all across the walkway. She suppressed the urge to groan in annoyance, instead saying, “Excuse me.”

Hawke, who had stumbled but managed to stay upright, knelt by her, grinning. “Don’t worry about it. Sorry about your papers.”

“It’s no problem,” Cassandra said.

“Are you alright?” Hawke asked, collecting a few papers on her own. “You look - well, not bad, because you’re always so _strikingly_ gorgeous, but certainly a little more ragged than usual.”

Cassandra sighed, gathering up the last of the fallen papers. “Why do you do that?” she asked.

“Do what?”

“ _Flirt_ ,” Cassandra growled, looking at Hawke directly.

“Oh, that. Because you’re worth flirting with.” Hawke made a little dismissive wave with one hand. “As I said before, it’s not as though it means anything.”

“Then why? What does that even mean?”

Hawke smirked and offered her stack of papers to Cassandra. “Fine, fine. Then how about, because it’s fun?”

“That makes no sense.” She took the papers cautiously, half expecting them to be a trick, for some reason.

“It does, though.” Hawke crossed her arms. “Sadly, I think it’s mostly worn off now, but when I first arrived at Skyhold, you had this adorable crush on me. And you are a fantastic woman, Lady Cassandra, make no mistake of that. So yes, it’s fun to flirt with you. Anything wrong with that?”

“I -” Cassandra stammered. “I didn’t - don’t -”

“Oh, you did.” Hawke smiled at her. “You _still_ get very flustered when I compliment you.”

“I might just be unused to flattery,” Cassandra suggested, but even as she said it she knew it wasn’t true. Flattery from the Iron Bull and Dorian rolled off her with ease, and other women had flirted with her in the past, to no effect. Yet she’d been uncomfortable, and not exactly a bad uncomfortable, every time she’d met Hawke as of late.

“You keep telling yourself that,” Hawke advised. “Now, I’m sure you have places to be. I’ll see you around.” Hawke continued on her way in a very cheerful mood.

Cassandra walked back to the smithy with stiff movements. Her thoughts were scattered, not quite processing what had just happened. She remained in that state until she sat down, put down the reports, and told herself sternly to think about it as rationally as she could.

She wasn’t sure why she’d never noticed it before. Maybe she did have a crush on Hawke. It sounded ridiculous even to think it. She associated crushes with the fancies of young women whose interests were far more frivolous than hers. But now, forced to confront it, she recognized her admiration for Hawke in a new light.

Cassandra slumped against the table. Stop lying to yourself, she thought. Stop trying to soften it. There was a chance - no, more than a chance - that she was not entirely interested only in men.

It was a strange revelation. Cassandra thought that most epiphanies were supposed to shake your world, refocus your life, but this one seemed so insignificant. She was still falling deeply for Varric, after all, and compared with that, a small crush on Hawke (even one she’d apparently been stuck with ever since she’d first read _The Tale of the Champion_ ) meant very little. Hawke had no intention of acting on it, and neither did she. And if she’d had feelings for others in the past and not realized it, well, the past was gone now.

But it was very odd to realize there was some part of her she hadn’t noticed or realized until now. In order to maintain that fiction that she had no interest in women, she would have had to been lying to herself about her emotions for quite some time, much as she might have done about her feelings for Varric had her dreams not pushed things along.

“How is it that I so often see the truth in others, but not in myself?” she wondered out loud.

The desk had no answer for her.

Part of her wanted to go talk to Josephine or Leliana about this. She had known about Leliana's preferences for years, and Josephine had let slip, during one of their conversations, that her interests weren’t limited to women, either. But things with Leliana were fragile and strange right now, and Josephine was just as busy as she was, if not busier. Perhaps after Adamant she could sit down with one of them and talk.

Maker knew she wasn’t going to try talking out such a thing with _Hawke_ , after all. Hawke, who had annoyingly helped her come to a realization she should probably have found long ago. She was angry at Hawke on some level, but she knew it was only misdirection. Truly, she was annoyed with herself.

Cassandra made a little promise to herself. No lying to herself about things like this. No pretending she wasn’t feeling what she was feeling, about anyone or anything. She owed herself the truth, and there and then, she rededicated herself to that thought.

Sighing, Cassandra gathered herself up. There was still more to be done, after all.

In a week, they would attack Adamant. Until then, she would give the Inquisition everything she had, and then some.

They could not afford to lose this fight. Sudden revelations like this one could wait until after she ensured that they would all see the coming battle through.

-

The door rattled, startling Cassandra out of her fugue. She scrambled to her feet on limbs that still felt a little shaky, even though it’d been hours and hours since her last session. She wrapped her fingers around the bars of her cage and pulled herself to her feet; she stared at the door intently and waited, hoping that what entered from the other side would surprise her.

It creaked open all too slowly. The first to enter was the soldier with the daggers. Varric, trailed by another guard, entered after the first. He was staring at the floor, shuffling slowly across.

Then, he looked up at her, finding her face rapidly, as though he’d already known where it was. His expression was weary and grim, but worse, his irises were lined with bright, hazy red.

Cassandra felt her knees nearly buckle, her stomach plummet into the void, her heart stop briefly and then pound back to life and drown her ears with the sound of it. She tightened her grip on the bars to keep herself upright.

Varric looked away, as if he couldn’t meet her eyes for more than a moment. And her temper grew, raged, and on the inside she screamed at her own helplessness. But she kept herself still. She would never let them see that.

They ensured that Varric shuffled into his cage willingly. They took his cuffs off, expecting correctly that Varric would be in no state to fight back at the time. They shut the door firmly and locked it, all while Cassandra watched, stewing.

One of the guards turned as the other locked the door, and he made the mistake of catching her eye.

Cassandra spoke angrily, but with deliberate slowness, tightening her hands around the bars at the exact height of his neck. “Field and forest shall burn,” she said quietly, though there was no sound to stop it and her voice rang as loudly as a bell. “The seas shall rise and devour them. The wind shall tear their nations from the face of the earth. Lightning shall rain down from the sky. They shall cry out to their false god,” she said, nearly hissing, “and find silence.”

She could tell she had gotten to them. They no doubt recognized the words from the Chant of Light, and they were afraid. She was behind bars and they were not, but for that brief moment, she had frightened them.

If only it gave her any satisfaction. She felt the weight of her words settle into them, but it gave her no peace. They left afraid, but it changed little.

When they shut the door, she sunk to her knees. Varric had already collapsed in his cell, sitting against the wall. He’d dropped his head between his knees and sat at an angle where she could not see his face.

She stared at him, wishing she could find words. The only things she could think were meaningless platitudes. Perhaps there was a cure. Perhaps they could escape from here and find it. Perhaps they would be rescued soon. But none of those things felt true.

So his name fell from her lips instead. “Varric -”

He startled at that. He didn’t move, at first, but then he drew his hand over his face, and finally he looked up at her. Her heart broke.

“I - I am sorry,” she said, because she had to say _something_.

“You don’t have to be,” he said in a low, pained voice. She couldn’t put her finger on the cause, but it sounded wrong, and not because his voice was scratchy, most likely from screaming.

“I…” Her traitorous throat closed up on her.

Varric watched her. She couldn’t read him at all. He stared at her for a long moment.

Though it had to hurt him, he shuffled over closer to his cell’s door. He shut his eyes against it and continued, until he was pressed closely against the bars and had wrapped one hand around them for himself.

“Cassandra,” he said. There was something in the way he said her name. He let his hand on the bar slip down until it ended up on the stone floor, sitting just outside his cell. Then, damn him, he gave her a smile that was no more than a mockery of his usual charm. “Mind telling me a story?”

She wanted to touch him. To shake him silly, for one thing, for being a damn hypocrite, pretending he wasn’t in pain right in front of her. But also to hold him close, to give him comfort, something to hold on to. They were too far apart for any of that.

Yet, he had given her something she could do. She slid one hand to the ground, sitting right outside her cell as a perfect mirror of his. She imagined that their hands would touch, if this could somehow reach across, if the space between them was folded together.

Casting around her mind for a story to tell, she said, “I am not a good storyteller.”

“Tell one anyway.”

“I don’t have many good stories.”

“You’ll think of something.”

It took her another moment, but she did find something. A short story from her days training to be a Seeker, full of the mischief of youth. He might appreciate that mischief.

Cassandra spoke until he fell asleep. When she stopped, he was breathing evenly. She couldn’t see his eyes, and she could pretend, for the moment, that everything was alright.

Careful not to move her hand, Cassandra shifted, leaning against the wall. She closed her eyes and hoped for a little respite of her own.

-

On waking, Cassandra knew she’d dreamed of the moment she had irrevocably and completely fallen in love with Varric Tethras. As she remembered who and where she was, it melted away and left only a trace of itself, clinging to the edges of her present feelings for him. It was strange to settle back into herself and feel that slip away from her.

But stranger was the fact that she was used to this by now. She woke up in the morning having slept through the night, and shook the lingering negative feelings off with the first stretches of her day. Only the extremely surprising or traumatic memories shook her now. Though she was mostly past it, the memory of their death still lingered at the back of her mind, stealing her attention at rare moments.

So she carried on, and though it took her a short while to get into the swing of things, she forged ahead.

It was a long day. Josephine had coerced a Fereldan noblewoman into giving the Inquisition a number of trebuchets, which greatly improved their chance of successfully penetrating Adamant’s walls. The number of soldiers they would gather was almost a certainty now. In short, they were armed with as much information as they were going to get.

So they began to settle their plans at last. She, Josephine, Leliana, Cullen, and the Inquisitor spent most of the day in the war room, adorned not by a map of Thedas but by their best map of Adamant, as put together by the combined forces of Alistair's thorough work and Leliana’s bravest scouts.

It was tiring. The Inquisitor maintained peace well enough, but there were still arguments and tensions. They came out of it with a satisfactory plan, but Cassandra was frustrated and weary at the end, and the others seemed no better. Even Josephine seemed a little - Cassandra almost smiled at the thought - ruffled.

In particular, she was a little concerned about Cullen. Though he appeared to be under control, he carried the frustration like the rest of them. She wondered if he was well, so as they left, she followed him.

“Alright?” she asked in a quiet tone.

“Fine. More or less.” He breathed out slowly. “If you want to speak more, you could come back with me to my office.”

Cassandra nodded, agreeing, and followed him onward. On the way, she glanced at Varric’s usual spot. He was gone, at the moment, busy elsewhere or spending time with Hawke, probably. Thinking of Hawke made her frown. It had been mean of Hawke to hold a crush she was unaware of over her head. Cassandra still respected and liked Hawke, but she planned to hold a grudge a mile wide about that little prank. Maybe she would find a way to get revenge, or something.

“Something bothering you?” Cullen asked.

She snapped herself out of it. “Nothing important.”

Cullen snorted. “Your eyes were boring a hole in Varric’s desk.”

“That had nothing to do with him,” Cassandra said honestly.

“Right,” Cullen replied dryly.

Well, he could believe what he liked.

The rest of the walk to his office was quick, quiet, and brisk, and soon she was grabbing a chair while Cullen sat in his own.

“What’s going on?”

Cullen shrugged. “Just thought I should give you an update. It’s… nothing’s changing.”

“Nothing?”

“Days are easier, lately,” he added, “but I’m not sure how much of that is pain and anger going away, and how much of it just seems that way because I’m learning to manage it. I think it’s mostly the second one. I’m beginning to think that the withdrawal symptoms are never going to go away. Not completely, anyway.”

Cassandra’s expression sank. “I’m sorry, Cullen.”

“No, it’s alright.” Cullen sighed. “It’s almost a relief, because I don’t feel like it’ll ever get any worse than it is now, either. I’m - I’m not completely free of it. But even if it’s painful or difficult sometimes, it’s worth it. Which…” Cullen frowned, pressing his fingers against his temples. “It doesn’t mean you shouldn’t still monitor me for any kind of issues. I still have bad days and end up almost throwing things at my lieutenants.” Cassandra raised her eyebrows. “But… I wanted you to know that I think this is as good as it’s going to get. And I think I can live with that.”

Slowly, thoughts tumbled around in Cassandra’s head. She could say many things, most of them serious, but instead the words that left her were the most irreverent ones she could have picked. “How does it feel to be the first known individual to abstain from lyrium and neither die nor go mad?”

Cullen stared at her in surprise for a moment, and then started chuckling. “Like shit, honestly,” he said, in genuine good cheer. “Besides, I’m only the first known individual who hasn’t died or gone mad _yet_.”

“Then call me an optimist,” Cassandra replied, smiling. “But truthfully, I hope you are proud. You deserve to be.”

He made a face and looked away, bashful, perhaps. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you. For your support in this.” Cassandra opened her mouth to reply, but Cullen cut her off. “And please don’t try to downplay your role. Without your help, I wouldn’t have found the little support network I have now. For the first time in too long, I feel _safe_ , Cassandra. That security, knowing lyrium can’t take away all that I’ve built… It’s priceless.”

Cassandra smiled wryly. She understood completely. “I am glad I could help. It’s… it’s good to know that lyrium can be conquered.”

“So am I,” Cullen half-joked, returning her smile.

With a sigh, Cassandra folded her arms. “I wonder if there is any way this could be used to help future Templars, or if we could somehow deal with red lyrium, or... Were I still a Seeker, I might have some control over the future direction of lyrium in the wake of all that has happened. But I’m not.” She frowned. “For the first time since I began the Inquisition, I truly regret leaving the Seekers. Not that I would change my decision, but…”

“If you’re saying you don’t think you can do anything about it now that you’re no longer a Seeker, that’s bullshit.”

His strong words startled her. “What does that mean?”

“You’ve kept track of Seeker interests since you left. You’ve dedicated yourself to ending the chaos in Thedas, going as far as to recreate the very Inquisition the Seekers were initially born from, if I remember what you said correctly. You left at a time when the Seekers were acting questionably at best. It may have been Lambert who declared the Nevarran Accord broken, but Lord Seeker Lucius, in his footsteps, has clearly been involved in some kind of mess: terrorizing Val Royeaux with the templars, cloistering them in an old Seeker fortress, and then, next thing we know, all the templars seem to be under Corypheus’ control? I’d bet you made the right move, getting out when you did. I’d also bet that there are other Seekers who see that something’s not right, and you would still have their respect. When this is all over, I bet you’ll be able to get in contact with them and set things in motion, even from outside of the order.” Cullen paused. “I - that wasn’t intended to be a lecture. Sorry.”

Cassandra couldn’t help but give a laugh at his embarrassment. “I think you’ve made your point. I’ll consider it, but as you mentioned, it will likely have to wait until after Corypheus has been dealt with, at least.”

“The Elder One has a way of complicating things,” Cullen replied dryly. “I’ve had similar thoughts, you know. At this time, it would be unwise to let it be publicly known that I’m off lyrium. But someday, if Corypheus falls, and the Inquisition is in a stable position… It would be nice to let templars know that there is hope, if they want it.”

The thought _was_ wonderful. Cassandra uncrossed her arms and stared, for a moment, at her fingertips. “It would.”


	15. Chapter 15

A matter of days later, the Inquisition was nearly prepared to march on Adamant.

The thrill of that knowledge had the whole of Skyhold on edge, working hard with a fast-paced, nervous energy.  Cassandra could feel it just walking on the ramparts, though part of it might have been her own nerves about the matter. They were only coordinating a few final matters now, such as the delivery of their siege weaponry, which would have to arrive separately from the bulk of the Inquisition’s army. Their numbers were as high as they could manage in so little time. Master Dennet had worked miracles to ensure that their finest soldiers would ride his finest mounts, and every scrap of information Leliana had gathered had been distributed to the ones who could make use of it.

For some, all that they had to do now was wait for orders to march. Cassandra knew she couldn’t expect to find herself in that category. There was always something, and when there wasn’t, one of the Inquisition’s other officers was asking for her help.

Cassandra felt tired in the way that meant she was doing good work. If she was overworking herself, then she would have time to rest on the journey ahead, and after. She knew her limits, and she knew that come time to attack, she would be fit to fight.

She passed Varric at his usual chair, and she wasn’t surprised when he called her over. There was a grin on his face which spoke of trouble, something which would steal her away from her responsibilities for a little while. She hesitated for a moment, feeling the bone-deep urge to continue work regardless, but she shook it off. She could afford a break, and whatever Varric had in mind was sure to provide some kind of entertainment.

“What is it?” she asked, exhaustion blunting her words.

He clapped his hands together, smirking a little, though it was a weak smirk at best. Cassandra truthfully wasn’t sure how Varric helped the Inquisition these days, but there were slight bags under his eyes which told her she was not the only one putting a few too many hours in. She would bet he still looked less haggard than she did, however. “Got anything pressing to do right now, or can it wait an hour or two?” he asked.

“Yes, it can wait, though I cannot promise I won’t be summoned away like last time.”

“They can’t summon you if they can’t find you.”

“If they can’t… You found a place to play Wicked Grace?” Cassandra said, catching on. “It had better not be some kind of storage or closet.”

“Hey, now, there’s no need to underestimate me like that.” Varric shook his head. “No, Seeker, I think you’ll be pleased. You’ll be able to lose at Wicked Grace to your heart’s content.”

“You make it sound so appealing,” she murmured.

“Trust me, Seeker,” Varric replied. A beat after he said it, the smile on his face faltered.

Cassandra smothered a pang of sympathy and regret. He remembered a life where she took a swing at him for lying (wide, never intending to hit her mark). She remembered that life and another, where they’d leaned on each other to survive unspeakable pain. But he couldn’t know that.

Carefully keeping her voice even, she said, “Lead the way.”

“Let’s cut through the garden,” Varric replied. He turned quickly and started heading that way, perhaps trying to keep her from reading his expression. Cassandra shadowed him quietly.

“So where _have_ you found a place to play cards, then?” she asked after a moment.

He shoved the door open, and took the opportunity to look back at her and shrug. “The north tower.”

“Not the Inquisitor’s…?”

“No, no, the shorter one.”

“That tower? What’s up there?”

“Surprisingly? Nothing.” Varric shook his head. “I’ve seen a few soldiers milling around there sometimes, but every time I’ve been by, the place is nearly empty. There’s a few tables, chairs, a stretch of canvas, but nobody’s using the space at all.”

Cassandra followed him beyond the gazebo and felt a strange mirroring in each of her steps. The last time Varric had led her across this garden, they had ended up in the storage room and reconciled from their fight. She looked across to that door and felt strange as she passed it. So much had changed. They had been awkward, fumbling; at the time she had been blessed or cursed with ignorance, yet to realize what her dreams would come to mean, or where her heartfelt apology would eventually bring her.

She looked back to Varric, starting to follow him up the steps to the ramparts. “Nobody? I find that hard to believe.”

“So did I, but it’s true.” Varric laughed. “You know how Lavellan works, though. One of these days I bet she’ll drag _someone_ into our mess and they’ll take up residence there.”

Less than enthused, Cassandra replied, “It’s more than possible.”

“What? Not up to taking in more of her strays?”

Cassandra sighed. “Not really. Though, I suppose the Inquisitor’s current ‘strays’ _have_ proven themselves useful, and I was not so keen on several of them.”

Varric leaned against the stone railing for a second, turning around, and snickered. “Are you admitting you might have been wrong, Seeker?”

She raised an eyebrow at him, stopping for a moment in front of him. “I can admit it when I’m wrong.”

“No shit?” Varric feigned surprise. “Maker’s breath, your character development grows by the day,” he teased.

Cassandra rolled her eyes and breezed past him so that he would not see a smile creep over her face. It backfired, a little. She soon ran into the door to the tower, and unfortunately, she didn’t know where Varric was supposed to be leading her.

So she turned and crossed her arms, only to find him smiling and following her, clearly knowing exactly what she was thinking. Point to Varric. Frustrated, she scowled, but it only widened his smirk further, and she had the brief annoyed thought of kissing it off his face.

Past the door, he led her up some dusty stairs to an empty room. It was a little dark, lit mainly by the sunlight that shone past a ladder to the tower’s rooftop. Varric strode over to a table just off the wall, striking a match and lighting the candle atop it in a smooth motion which made Cassandra wonder how much he’d planned this. He had known the candle was there, if nothing else.

Varric took a seat and sat back, setting the deck of cards out on the table. He kicked out the chair on the opposite side, making a clear invitation.

“I can’t believe you found this spot,” Cassandra remarked as she took the chair.

Varric started shuffling the deck. “It’s one of my most secret skills,” he replied. “It’s a weird knack, but it’s true: I can ferret out hiding spots, hang-outs, the perfect location for almost any purpose.”

“That is an oddly specific ability,” she said. “Though, it sounds a little less impressive when you consider that it was Solas who found Skyhold.”

He scowled at her, though she thought he was trying not to laugh. “Chuckles cheats. He didn’t look for Skyhold. He probably fell asleep one day and heard about it while chatting it up with a spirit of large-scale real estate.”

Cassandra laughed. “No such thing, I think. The Fade doesn’t have land for sale. I’m not even sure it could be claimed to have land.”

“I meant that as a joke, but if you’re going to take it seriously -” He dealt them each a hand. “Well, I don’t know. Couldn’t there be a spirit of grief or tragedy or something that just happens to really like big old castles? If what he says about spirits is true, anyway.”

“Cole seems like proof enough that there is _some_ merit to Solas’ claims,” she mused as she looked at her cards.

He glanced at her, slightly surprised. “You warmed up to the kid, huh?”

“Once he has helped enough times, it becomes hard to believe he could be capable of anything else. I still think there is the minute chance that he could somehow change, and become a demon, but that demon would not be Cole. Cole seems as wary of that possibility as anyone.”

“I’m glad you’ve come over to the kid’s side,” Varric said, smiling with genuine warmth.

Cassandra smiled. While she was sure most of that warmth was directed at Cole, her throat still caught on a little ball of happiness. When she could speak around it, she said only, “So am I.”

“So, Seeker,” Varric said, raising his voice a little, returning to that cocksure smile he liked to wear when he planned to rile her up. “Got your winning card hands memorized?”

Probably not. Cassandra let out a little groan.

She wasn’t sure of the cause - their exhaustion, the quiet surroundings, or some other factor she couldn’t name - but this session felt different to their previous ones. Where the others had been charged somehow, with daring and passion and the sense of unfurling something new, this was quieter. Conversation flowed, calmly, freely, and swept time up with it such that Cassandra only comprehended its passage through the changing light from the ceiling.

Her guard dropped lower and lower as it went on. She laughed and spoke with only traces of hesitation, found herself teased gently and teased back in the same manner, and simply had a good time.

Mostly, anyway.

Cassandra sighed, frustrated. “I don’t see why I lost,” she admitted, glaring at her cards like they might suddenly speak up and explain themselves if she only intimidated them enough.

“You don’t?”

“Isn’t it a tie? Or… No, ties don’t exist, do they?”

“No, they don’t,” Varric agreed. He rubbed his chin. “Let’s see here…” Then, he looked up, struck by an idea of some sort. He gathered up his cards, rearranging them in one hand while he got to his feet.

Cassandra made as if to get up too, but he shook his head at her. “Stay put,” he ordered. Then, once he’d reordered the cards, he came over to her side. Leaning over, he spread his cards over hers in one hand, so she could compare the two hands up close.

Ignoring his close presence for the moment, Cassandra looked again at the cards, frowning. Varric had matched the order of his with the order of hers - and then she saw the difference.

“You have _songs,_ not serpents,” she muttered, unthinking. “They trump.”

“ _There_ you go!”

“I’m right?” She glanced up at him with surprise. Even if she was still the worst Wicked Grace player in all of Skyhold, she couldn’t help but cheer triumphantly. “ _Finally_!”

“You know you still lost, right?” he asked, but there was a hint of pride alongside the mirth.

“Progress is still progress,” she informed him. “I’ve just made some. I’ll take it.”

Varric laughed at her some more.         

The cheer looked good on him, she contemplated, shifting to face him. He had kept a respectful distance in approaching her: he was close, but not uncomfortably so. Yet, it occurred to her that if she wanted to, at this moment, she could pull him that much closer and kiss him. He was just within reach.

Then it occurred to her that she _did_ want to. Not as an act of “someday,” but here and now, in a dim room lit by candlelight and the afternoon sun, laughing with him at her terrible card-playing skills - all strangely romantic.

And what was stopping her? The idea that he would not reciprocate? Or one of a million other things that could go wrong, but most likely wouldn’t? What was she waiting for? What was she afraid of?

Struck with boldness, Cassandra acted before she could doubt. She pulled his head towards hers more forcefully than she intended to, knocking their noses together uncomfortably for a moment. She recovered quickly and kissed him before he could react to her minor blunder.

She’d intended to keep it short, a press of lips, a declaration of intent, but it didn’t turn out that way. Varric’s surprise didn’t last long, and he cupped her cheek in one very warm hand, then found her waist with the other, holding her close and kissing back with unexpected fervor. Cassandra felt light in his grip. She couldn’t help but wonder if she was dreaming, but then, even in a dream-memory she didn’t think she would so fully feel the sharp tingle running down her spine. She regretted for a moment that she wore gloves. She wanted to feel his skin beneath her fingers and find out the texture of his hair, though she could feel it a little as a tickle on her chin.

He drew back for breath and stared into her eyes, searching for some kind of answer, though Cassandra didn’t know the question. And, she had one of her own. “I can’t -” she started. “I can’t… do this if - if it’s only physical,” she said, red-faced and acutely aware that he hadn’t moved his hand from her cheek. “I’m a romantic, I won’t…”

Varric cut her off. “Maker, I hoped you’d say that,” he replied hoarsely. Elation bubbled up through her. He kissed her again, quickly, and pulled away with a hesitant smile crossing his features. “I never hated you, you know,” he murmured. “Just - liked your attention and the look on your face when something I said offended your sensibilities.”

Under any other circumstances, that might not have broken the mood, but it did. The words weren’t exact, but they were painfully close to something he’d said in the alternate future. They were words she’d already known, and she suddenly felt horribly guilty, as if she were cheating Varric somehow.

He must have seen the shock in her face. “I - I’m sorry, did I…”

“No, this…” Cassandra inched away from him. He took the hint and released his grip on her, though he did so with a look of hurt that worsened her guilt. “It is not…”

“It’s not you, it’s me?” He joked, bitterly. “If you’re having regrets -”

“ _No_ ,” she replied, glaring at him slightly. “Don’t jump to conclusions.”

“Then what is it?” Varric asked.

She sighed and rubbed her forehead. She couldn’t look him in the eyes. “If - I… It is not right for me to continue this unless I tell you something. It is important.”

That calmed him slightly. “What is it?”

Cassandra’s throat closed up on her again. She tried, but she couldn’t verbalize it. What could she say? That she had been dreaming of him night after night? All her words fell short of the mark, and with each new version she thought of she grew more convinced that whatever she had to say, he wouldn’t react well.

Shamed, Cassandra looked down.

“Seeker?” he asked, now concerned.

She sighed, knowing she owed him some kind of answer. Forcing herself to look up again, she said, “It’s… difficult to speak of. Varric, I… do care for you. Can you give me a little time? Maybe… when we return from Adamant?”

There was no pretense in Varric’s expression. He was frustrated, yes, but first and foremost, he was worried about her. “If it’s that important to you… Can you promise me you _will_ tell me? And then - it’ll be alright?”

Cassandra nodded, clenching her fists. She knew she could tell him, given the time to figure out how.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay,” he repeated, though whether to calm her or himself, she wasn’t sure. “But - I - I care about you, too. If I’m giving you time until after Adamant… If the worst happens, you should at least know that. And I should probably go now.”

Cassandra almost laughed at the idea that Varric could die on her again. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

Varric quickly started gathering up his deck of cards. “You’re welcome,” he said. “It’s okay, though.”

“Is it?” she asked.

“Whatever this is, it’s hurt you, hasn’t it? Badly. So yeah, it is.” He shuffled awkwardly off towards the steps. Before he went downstairs, however, he turned back to her and managed a small grin. “Besides - if nothing else, today, I kissed Cassandra Pentaghast. Worth it.”

She smiled a little in return. The moment he was out of sight, she buried her face in her hands, excited and mortified, overjoyed and crushed, hoping that in asking him to give her time, she hadn’t made a haunting mistake.

-

Once they shut the door to Leliana’s part of the dungeon behind them, they were silent. There was nothing more to be said.

They moved swiftly. They doubted their escape had been discovered yet, but they still felt the pressure of time weighing on their every decision. Cassandra peeked around corners only briefly before charging forward.

The center of the dungeons was a large, open space. Red lyrium had begun to grow from the walls and ceilings; Cassandra could feel it even before they entered the room. Here, they finally found guards; there were two posted inside, both armed with swords and shields. Good, maybe she would be able to pick one up now.

Cassandra quickly signaled to Varric, letting him know how many there were and that he should stay down. When he nodded, she turned and charged out from the corner, sword point first.

The guards responded quickly, drawing their swords about as soon as she was on the platform. She focused on parrying, waiting for an opportunity and feeling too open without a shield on her arm. Carefully, she allowed the left guard to gain some ground on her, pushing her towards the right side of the room - opposite Varric’s direction, perhaps giving him an opening.

Neither of them saw Varric; he slipped out from the corner and sank his daggers into the slit of the left guard’s armor, dropping him. He screamed. Cassandra shoved the other guard towards the platform’s edge and slid her sword into the fallen guard, ensuring he would not get back up. Varric cornered the last guard and dueled him straight to the edge, and then, with a swift elbow, he fell.

Cassandra quickly scooped up the dead guard’s shield and slipped it on. Much better.

“Now we’re talking. How do we get across?” Varric wondered, looking at the closed drawbridge.

“We were loud. Give it a moment.”

As she’d suspected, the bridge started lowering very quickly, and four more guards appeared to fight them.

They went down, but not easily. Cassandra was able to put up a much better defense with a shield in hand, keeping them at bay, knocking them down, and generally holding them off from all but minor blows. Varric was struggling a little to defend himself, between his lack of armor and the daggers - Cassandra wondered if they’d kept Bianca anywhere.

One guard fell, skewered through the armpit, another sliced her hand partway through the battle. Varric took out another guard and drew the other into combat with him, leaving her just the one.

Whoever he was, he was more skilled than Alexius’ usual grunts. She couldn’t find an opening in his defense, and he held his ground when she tried to knock him off his balance. The blood from her hand wound dripped between her fingers. If it continued to drip that way, she risked losing her grip.

Their hilts slammed up against each other, locking - a bad position; she was the smaller of the two of them and her grip was precarious. She pitted her strength against his, using all that she had, and then a little more.

With a growl, she shoved him back; his surprise left him open just long enough for her to disarm him and take him out. With hardly any pause, she pivoted towards the guard attacking Varric, who was struggling to keep a sword out of his skull. The guard barely even had time to recognize that Cassandra was there, and didn’t even register her sword before it sank into his chest. It was uncomfortably satisfying.

Breathing hard, Cassandra let her sword point fall a little. No reinforcements?

Varric asked, “They got your hand?”

“It’s only a graze,” she replied.

“It’s a graze that’s bleeding,” he said. Cassandra couldn’t argue with that. Sheathing her weapons for a moment, she pressed her other hand against her fingers, trying to slow the bleeding a little. Varric bent down and ripped some clothing off one of the guards’ undershirts.

She tied it around her fingers, suspecting that the bleeding would slow before too long with a little pressure. The threat to her grip was the only real threat it posed.

They moved on.

Upstairs, the castle was still hauntingly empty. As Leliana had told them, there was a stash of weapons up there, but nothing better than what they already had, and Cassandra had no wish to cake the inside of any gauntlets with dried blood.

They pressed on. Guards saw them but they were only in teams of two, and most were easily dispatched. Varric received a cut on his collarbone, and Cassandra took a kick to her hip which would bruise badly, but otherwise, they fared well.

Then, they saw natural light around a corner.

“A courtyard,” Cassandra said, awed. It had been too long since she had anything but stone, lyrium, and torch.

“Let’s be careful. Remember what Leliana said.”

“Andraste’s grace, Varric, as though I could forget.”

The corner led them to a door with a window in it, and outside, they could see the sky. It was light, but grey, and torn across with green. The breach. Cassandra shoved the door open, prepared for any demons.

There were no demons.

They were surrounded. As many as fifteen guards stood in front of them. Behind them, their commander, a Tevinter mage with straw hair and a shard of red lyrium strung around his neck, smiled.

“And here I thought the two of you were model prisoners,” he said. “Not nearly so mouthy as the spymaster, nor so troublesome as the mage. There will be punishment for this.”

“Guard-captain Septimus?”

“No,” he said. “Though clever you, learning her name. Guards, take them alive.”

They went down fighting.

Cassandra barely thought, catching one sword with her shield and stabbing someone with another. But with eight or so men surrounding her, she knew she would not last. Several of the men would come away with bad, maybe permanent injuries by her blade, and that was satisfying.

They cut her arm first, then the back of her leg, hindering her movement. They knocked the sword from her hand and wrapped her arm around her back; they stripped her of her shield and held her in place with a knife to her throat.

Not four meters away, she saw them do the same to Varric, and only then did she stop moving.

The commander, twisting his pendant between the fingers of his free hand like a cat playing a toy, approached slowly. He tapped the butt of his staff against the ground, matching the rhythm of his echoing footsteps.

“You two,” he drawled, coming to a stop, “are a problem _._ We can’t have this happening again.”

“Come closer,” Varric suggested. “I can’t spit on you from here.” The lyrium heightened his anger; the red spilling from his eyes made him look more frightening, and it matched the blood on his neck and his thigh all too well. Cassandra wondered if she looked the same.

The commander ignored him, approaching Cassandra, still smiling. “Best we separate you while you recover from your wounds, I think. And keep you separated, after. You in one part of the dungeons, he in another. What do you think of that?”

She thought it would mean the end.

Cassandra kept herself still on the surface. She considered many responses, each slightly more measured than the last, until at last she settled on asking for the one thing she wanted to know from this mage. “What is your name?” she asked.

He nodded slowly, still smiling, and took one step closer. “Guard-mage Flavius: the one who outwitted your escape.”

Then Cassandra noticed that the overconfident fool had forgotten to wear a helmet.

Desperately, she struck back at the man who held her arm, elbowing him off her. In the clamor that followed, she grabbed the dagger at her throat, cutting open the bandages on her injured hand as she did so. “Cassandra!” Varric roared, but she ignored it, lifting the knife and slamming the pommel down on Flavius’ head.

She quickly found herself bound again, but Flavius was on the ground, clutching his head. Cassandra could see blood beginning to mat his hair. “Separate them, now!” Flavius yelled. Something was a little off about his voice. Maybe he would die, maybe not, but either way, he wouldn’t come away from this unharmed.  

The guards began to drag her away, and they took Varric in the opposite direction.

“Cassandra!” he shouted again, struggling against his captors.

There was so much she could say, but none of it was for others’ ears. “Varric!” she said, loud, but not quite shouting. They shared a last moment of eye contact. Then, Varric dropped his head to his chest, defeated.

Cassandra dropped hers as well.

Likelier than not, he would turn completely to crystal before she saw him again, and she would soon follow after.

They threw her into the cell; they needn’t have bothered. She slunk against the wall, putting her head in her hands. And damn it all, blood on her hands, blood on her arm, blood dripping down her leg, she still thought of him.

“Blessed are they who stand before the wicked and do not falter,” she murmured. “Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow.” Hesitant, she pulled her cut hand away from her head, staring at it. “In their blood...”

Try as she might, Cassandra found she couldn’t finish the verse.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes Adamant. You ready? Sorry for treading so much familiar ground in this chapter. Next chapter, things will start to go a little more off the beaten path. :)

Even with that nightmare disrupting her sleep, Cassandra faced the morning with a far sturdier frame of mind. She had wanted to kiss Varric, and she did. She had wanted to tell him that she was coming to care about him, and she did. Whatever else, she had taken a large step closer to her goals. Cassandra would find a way to tell him the truth about her dreams, and though she had no idea how Varric might react, she believed they could find a way to work it out. It was a chance she was lucky enough to have. She would not waste it.

With that settled, Cassandra was able to tackle the day with determination. It was another long day of work, spent arranging the last pieces needed for the Inquisition’s march, but she could more than handle the challenge.

Piece by piece the Inquisition’s plans fell into place. When the time came to leave Skyhold at last, it surprised her. The cheers went up, the soldiers moved out, and she left on horseback alongside many of the Inquisitor’s advisors and guards.

The journey was quick, or at least it felt that way. The Inquisitor finally settled on her personal strike team a day away from Adamant. Cassandra wasn’t very surprised to find out that she would be charging into Adamant with Varric and Dorian. Fortunately, she wasn’t _exactly_ avoiding Varric. She was just avoiding any lengthy discussions with him. He seemed to understand and respect that distance - for the most part. Though he carefully avoided talking to her for any great length of time, he still stole one or two hidden moments to smile at her or wink when he’d cleverly insulted somebody in conversation. It rankled slightly, but it was a relief as well. There was no clearer sign that he had no intention of giving up on her than his hobby of getting on her nerves.

Their scouts had already prepared an encampment not far from Adamant, and their army stopped there the night before. Cassandra crashed nearly as soon as they arrived, planning to help arrange things early in the morning, before they set out.

She slipped into sleep. Dreams of red lyrium woke her in the middle of the night, but she only sighed and turned back over, praying that the next dawn would herald a much-needed victory.

-

As she was finishing dressing the next morning, Cassandra heard someone call for her outside her tent. “Cassandra?”

“Leliana, is that you?” Cassandra called back.

“Yes. I need to speak to you.”

There was worry in Leliana’s voice. Cassandra finished buckling her belt with a puzzled frown, donned her sword, and quickly went outside. “What’s wrong?”

Leliana gave her a small, restrained smile. “Solas has news for us.”

“News?” It took a moment for her to remember, and when she did, she understood the expression on Leliana’s face. “He found our memories in the Fade?”

“Not exactly. Come,” Leliana said, motioning for Cassandra to follow.

Perplexed, she did as she was bid. Cassandra admitted to herself that with everything else on her mind, the origin of her memories had fallen to the wayside of her primary concerns. But that didn’t answer why what Solas had found so concerned Leliana.

They met by a fire in a desolate corner of the camp, where Solas was already sitting on a log, thoughtfully tapping his fingers on the staff at his side. He looked up at their approach, and rose to his feet.

“Solas?” Cassandra asked.

“Good morning,” he said, still frowning thoughtfully.

“Have you found our memories?”

“Tell her what you told me,” Leliana said.

Solas nodded to her, then turned back to Cassandra. “I haven’t found your memories, but I found where they _were._ By the time I arrived, they were gone.”

“Gone?” Cassandra frowned. “What does that mean?”

“Taken may be a better word.” Solas leaned on his staff. “It was almost barren. But once, it must have been a repository for a year’s worth of memories for a few hundred people, or so.”

“A few hundred people? That’s very specific.” Leliana tilted her head slightly. “Perhaps those at Redcliffe Castle…?”

“That’s my guess. Through contact with Alexius’ magic, or contact with Lavellan, perhaps, their memories survived intact, in the Fade alone, when the timeline was reversed. They probably fell into the clutches of despair demons. A group of despair demons could likely feed on the remains of those memories for years.”

Cassandra struggled to keep up. “So… you’re saying despair demons _ate_ our memories?”

“No. I’m not explaining myself very well.” Solas sighed. “That is, approximately, what _should_ have happened, I believe, had things taken their natural course. But at some point, nearly all of those memories were removed. I only found scraps of memory left behind. It’s a wonder I found that place at all, given how little was left.”

“Who or what could do such a thing? And why?” Leliana asked.

“I wish I knew. A very strong spirit? A disciple of Alexius? The effort needed to move something from one part of the Fade to another is enormous, since the Fade isn’t necessarily a spatial realm. If this was done by a mage or many mages, they would need a great deal of lyrium to accomplish this. If this was done by an inhabitant of the Fade, that inhabitant would have to be very powerful, indeed.”

“You found this place last night, right?” Cassandra asked. When Solas nodded, she continued, “I had another dream from those memories last night. Wherever they’ve gone, I’m still dreaming about them.”

“We can’t assume they were moved recently,” Leliana pointed out. “From the sound of it, we have no way of knowing how long ago our memories were there.”

“That’s correct.” Solas sighed. “We don’t even know if there are others who are dreaming as you two are. I don’t know why you’re dreaming of them. I will try to seek your memories out further. This worries me. That much sorrow, all packed together, could mean a great deal of power in the wrong hands. This may concern more than just the two of you, now.”

“We should inform the Inquisitor once we’re back at Skyhold,” Leliana suggested. She glanced sidelong at Cassandra. “That is, if…”

“That will be fine,” Cassandra replied quickly.

“Should you-”

“I’ll make sure Varric knows what’s going on before then,” Cassandra said.

If Leliana thought anything of that, she didn’t let on. “Good.” She turned back to Solas. “Thank you, Solas. I’m sure this information must have come at some risk to you.”

“Not really,” Solas said, showing the first hint of a smile all morning. “I’m glad I could assist. I only wish my news were any better.”

“That’s not your fault. At any rate, we shouldn’t let this distract us from what needs to be done in Adamant,” Cassandra offered.

Leliana nodded. “You’re right. I’ll send a few agents out to investigate further, but we should put matters of the Fade aside for now. Adamant comes first.”

They scattered quickly after that. Cassandra refused to let the matter trouble her too much, but it was still a niggling worry to add to her list. She did not like the idea of some malevolent party with their hands on her memories. There was no telling what one could do with them, or if something had already been done.

As the hour of attack approached, Cassandra’s nerves were on high alert.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” she heard Varric mutter to Dorian at one point. Dorian started ranting, telling Varric he had cursed the whole mission by saying so, but Cassandra quietly echoed the sentiment.

-

By the time they breached Adamant’s walls, the fires were already burning, filling the air with a smoky scent. It reminded Cassandra vividly of Haven, but the clamors from the soldiers were louder, and the sound of stones crashing against the ramparts and shuddering into the fort’s sides made the experience different enough that she could shake the memories with little trouble.

Cassandra forged a path ahead of the Inquisitor, drawing fire by assaulting whichever demons first came in range of her blade. She could hear Lavellan shouting over the noise, but only dimly. Perhaps things would quiet the closer they came to the center, where they expected Clarel would be continuing to raise the demon army.

The Inquisitor had picked her team well. She could hear Bianca firing at a constant rate, that regular “thunk” of a bolt which hit the mark almost every time, and felt secure in having Varric’s help. Dorian’s fire spells fit the occasion perfectly, too. There was no hesitation in his spells and very little grace, as his only intent was to cause harm to the demons, and as much of it as possible. Alistair, of course, proved once again that he had earned his position in the Grey Wardens, truthfully more comfortable than any of them were while surrounded by hordes of demonic forces. They were a team Cassandra could easily trust to have her back in the midst of a violent war.

Lavellan led them up towards the battlements across rubble and broken stairs. They passed Wardens who were sensible enough to fight the demons on their way and told them to stay out of the bulk of the fighting. Hopefully, that advice would see them alive at the end of this. Other Wardens, fanatic in their cause or their following of Clarel, attacked them on sight, and died by their hands. Whatever else happened this day, the Wardens would not come out of it as whole as they once were.

The battlements themselves were little better. Swarms of demons barred many of the Inquisition’s forces from entrance. Cassandra knew the Inquisitor wanted to come out of this with as many alive as possible, so they detoured to one of those choke points and cleared the lot of them out. They saw difference quickly. Soldiers began pouring from one of the siege ladders, prepared to defend the spot from whatever came.

Their team took the moment for a short breather. Cassandra tossed a health potion at Dorian when he waved at her. She didn’t need one herself just yet, but she did take the moment to quickly readjust her armor and shake out her limbs.

“Shouldn’t Hawke be up here somewhere?” Alistair shouted over the din.

“Somewhere,” Lavellan agreed. “If all the battlements are like this, they’ll be needing her help.”

Alistair nodded at the Inquisitor in acceptance, though his eyes drifted over the rest of the fortress, belying some worry for his friend.

As they pressed on through Adamant, Cassandra lost track of time, beheading vicious demons, impaling misled Wardens, focusing on each task as it came. They found Hawke holding a position on the wall before long, and fought two pride demons on the battlements, both newly summoned and full of vigor. Yet, Cassandra’s faith in their team was unshaken. They had taken down pride demons before, and they could do so again. It was no easy task to slay them, but eventually they wore them out, beating at their defenses until they fell at last.

The defeat of the pride demons turned the tide. The Inquisition finally gained the hold it needed on Adamant’s defenses. Grim, but satisfied, Lavellan wiped sweat off her forehead and turned to the rest of them.

“Let’s find Clarel and finish this,” she said simply.

After the pride demons, it was almost a breeze to head towards the fortress’ center. They picked up Hawke along the way and fought to the central courtyard, sparing more Wardens who had no wish to fight, taking down others who still believed.

Then, they found the central courtyard.

It was full of faithful Wardens, gathered around a balcony where a woman who could only be Warden-Commander Clarel, stony and purposeful, directed all from above. At her side, Cassandra spotted Magister Erimond, and below her, just past a line of Wardens, there were wisps of green light hovering and pulsing in the air: the remnants of a presently-sealed rift.

The Inquisitor wasted little time, shouting up as soon as she understood what was going on. “Wardens! Clarel! If you complete that ritual, you’re doing exactly what Erimond wants!”

Erimond innocently lifted his hands into the air. “What, fighting the blight? Keeping the world safe from darkspawn? Who wouldn’t want that?”

Irritated, Cassandra glanced at Varric, and she found herself pleasantly surprised to find him scowling, apparently as irked by Erimond’s antics as she was. It seemed as though Erimond would be doing his best to keep Clarel convinced of his good intentions.

That said, if Erimond was putting so much effort into his act, perhaps that meant Clarel _could_ be convinced, Cassandra mused, warily keeping an eye out as the Inquisitor gave the Wardens her case. Clarel wasn’t so far gone as they had feared. They just needed to find the right cause, the hook that could show her the truth…

“And then _he_ binds your mages to Corypheus!” Alistair shouted.

Cassandra couldn’t hear the words, but _that_ shook Clarel. Erimond whispered in her ear, however, and ultimately, she still gave the command: “Bring it through.”

“Vishante kaffas,” Dorian cursed. “Why won’t they just _listen_?”

“She believes they are doing the right thing,” Cassandra murmured.

The Warden mages began to open the rift, undoubtedly planning to do something with it. Erimond, meanwhile, still looked pleased, comfortable, stepping forth like a king assuming his throne. He’d worn that same arrogance before in the Western Approach, but that was because he’d had a back-up plan to halt the Inquisitor in her tracks. They were missing something, something bad.

And Cassandra wasn’t the only one who thought so. She could see it plain in Clarel’s expression: doubt. They were getting through to her, pulling back the veil, as Clarel eyed Erimond with growing wariness.

Lavellan, Hawke, and Alistair continued to plead their case, citing the Wardens they’d spared, the blood that had been shed, and Alistair’s loyalty to the Wardens, all of which raised a few concerns. Cassandra tightened her grip on her sword as Clarel spoke to Erimond and his expression, placid until now, darkened. He stepped forward, knocking his staff against the ground to call attention.

“My master thought you might come here, Inquisitor! He sent me this to welcome you!”

She heard a loud, haunting shrieking in the air, and looked up.

“Oh, shit,” said Varric.

Corypheus’ dragon had come.

After that: chaos. It spat some kind of electricity or glass, eerily like red lyrium, in a line through the center of the courtyard. The people gathered began to scatter in panic. A pride demon came through the rift, providing Cassandra’s immediate concerns. She charged it without hesitation, knowing where she was needed. Many of the Wardens, finally understanding, came to assist in taking it down, and soon, the Inquisitor’s magic followed.

She was confused to see a bolt of electricity cross over her head. Daring a glance, Cassandra saw it hit the dragon. It wasn’t Lavellan’s magic, however - it was Clarel’s, judging by the way the dragon spat that lyrium breath straight back at her. Clarel shouted at her Wardens to help the Inquisition, then bolted, chasing after Erimond, who had fled.

Even in this chaos, Cassandra heard Lavellan growl with frustration. The pride demon came first. As rapidly as possible they felled the demon, then left the remains to the trustworthy Wardens. Lavellan didn’t even have to give an order - the moment they were clear, their party headed straight up to the balcony, and past.

Demons and Wardens both blocked their way. They chased Clarel, Clarel chased Erimond, and Corypheus’ dragon caused havoc wherever it desired, tormenting the Wardens and the Inquisitor alike. It landed in front of them, blocking their path to the top, and Cassandra jumped in front of Lavellan, shield first, just before it breathed on them. She felt it as searing heat and sharp objects hitting her armor, and it took the wind out of her just to stay standing. It stopped and flew away.

“Thanks,” Lavellan murmured, only clipped by the dragon’s attack. She didn’t waste time, continuing forward. Cassandra regained her bearings and followed. She caught Varric glancing at her quickly, making certain that she was alright, but turned her head and followed without giving it thought.

Clarel led them up to the very peak of Adamant, a large, open platform with a short, broken stone bridge which jutted out past Adamant’s walls. By the time they arrived, Erimond was on the ground, curled up and keening with pain but alive. Clarel, full of righteous fury, stood over him.

Then the dragon snapped her up whole. Cassandra stared in horror as it flew off with her between its teeth.

She followed Lavellan’s lead, whirling around as the dragon landed on the wall, leaving them no safe exit. It spat Clarel out and she hit the ground before them with a crack. No one could survive that, Cassandra thought. Clarel still moved, but she wouldn’t for much longer.

Then it swooped down, crawling over her body and backing them up to the edge of the bridge. Cassandra couldn’t help it; she looked to Varric, realizing with a consuming fear that she didn’t know how they could possibly make it out of this.

Her panic was broken by a broken voice. “In war, victory,” she heard, nearly a whisper compared to the dragon’s menacing grumbles. “In peace, vigilance…”

Cassandra looked back at Clarel and saw it, the smallest gesture, a short pressing of her hand to the blood spilling from her middle, then lifting that hand towards the dragon. Cassandra saw a spark of lightning and quickly braced herself.

Everything exploded at once. The dragon crashed forward, screaming in pain, and fell, impacting the bridge strongly enough to crack it. Adamant was old and not built for a dragon’s girth. The stones began to fall apart. Cassandra scrambled away from the edge along with the others, trying to run back to Adamant’s center, but it was already too late. She saw Lavellan fall behind her and nearly screamed, and then her foot slipped and she was tumbling down as well, then Varric, soon all of them, tumbling down to a long, painful death.

But before they hit the ground, she saw a flash of bright green, then a sickly yellow. Cassandra lost consciousness at an impact to her head.

-

“Cassandra?”

Cassandra woke quickly at Dorian’s voice, startled, sat up, noting that her helmet was in her lap and not on her head, and looked around. The scenery around her was nearly indescribable, wild with colors and impossibilities, familiar yet horribly strange.

“What in Andraste’s name happened?” she asked. “This… is this the Fade?”

“You catch on quickly,” Dorian said. “We, um, fell in.”

“Fell? _Physically_?” Cassandra paled slightly. That was _wrong,_ so wrong it jarred her to the core. They were not supposed to be here.

“It was an accident?” he quipped weakly.

“Alright there, Seeker?” Varric called from a little ways away.

Cassandra looked over at him and nodded shortly, donning her helmet again. He relaxed, fractionally, and looked out at Lavellan, who crossed her arms, staring out at the sprawling structures before them.

“In the real world, the rift with the demons in it was nearby, in the main hall,” Alistair said. Cassandra looked around for his voice, confused, and finally found him standing on a nearby wall. “Can we get out the same way?”

“Beats waiting around for demons to find us, doesn’t it? Let’s find out,” Lavellan muttered.

“Great. But, um…” Alistair looked at his feet. “How do I do that?”

Cassandra had an idea. She got to her feet and walked over to Alistair, standing beneath him so he was just out of arm’s reach.

“Reach for my hand and step towards me at the same time,” she suggested, offering a hand as if to shake his.

“O-kay,” he said. He did as she said and soon found himself stumbling to the ground, only managing to stay upright because she’d grabbed his hand.

Hawke, suspended at a strange angle as well, whistled softly. “Nice trick. Can you do it for me?”

“You should be able to do it yourself,” Cassandra said. “Think of the place _we_ stand as being the real ground, and -”

Hawke ungracefully fell, letting out a brief yell as she collapsed flat against the dirt. Cassandra hadn’t intended for that to happen, but she couldn’t help but smile. She’d found her chance at revenge sooner than planned.

Varric, watching, chuckled. “How’d you think of that, Seeker?”

“Something Solas once said about the Fade.” Cassandra made sure Alistair had steadied himself and let go of his hand. Luckily, Alistair wasn’t embarrassed. Hawke had clearly outdone him on that front.

Lavellan grinned. “I should have guessed Solas would have something to do with it. Are we all set to go? The sooner we get moving, the better I’ll feel about all this.”

“Fully agreed,” Hawke muttered, getting to her feet, dusting off her armor, and scowling at Varric, who still looked at her with a thoroughly irreverent grin. Cassandra smiled at the sight.

They began to explore the Fade. Dorian and the Inquisitor, though both mages, each admitted they had no idea what to expect. People hadn’t truly walked the Fade since before the blights, after all.

They were agreed on one thing, at least. All of them wanted out, and as fast as possible. This place was full of opaque sludge, thick haze, and restless spirits, dreaming of terrors as they slept. Cassandra carefully edged around spikes of red lyrium, a little horrified to find them pervading even here. The sooner they were gone, the better.

Before long they turned a corner, and Cassandra spotted a familiar silhouette ahead of them. Her mouth went dry and her voice fled her.

Alistair said, “What? That can’t be…”

“I greet you, Warden. And you, Champion,” the figure said. She spoke with her voice and her face, striking a vibrant chord in Cassandra’s heart.

“Divine Justinia?” Cassandra asked. “Most Holy?”

“Cassandra,” she replied in solemn greeting.

The Inquisitor, wary, asked, “Cassandra, you knew the Divine. Is this really her?”

What was there to say? Knowledge from Solas, scripture, and history all warred in her head. What she could sense, she could not necessarily trust, but she knew that gaze, that posture, that voice, and not one bit of it rang false.

“I… I don’t know,” she stammered. “Be wary, Inquisitor.”

“Proving my existence either way would require time we do not have,” said Justinia, or her likeness. “You must know about this place of darkness you linger in now.”

Dorian scoffed, “Place of darkness? Lovely.”

“This is the lair of the demon which serves Corypheus,” she said. “It is the Nightmare you forget upon waking. It feeds off memories of fear and darkness, growing fat upon the terror. The false Calling that terrified the Wardens into making such grave mistakes? Its work.”

“I’d like to have a few words with this Nightmare about that,” Alistair grumbled.

Justinia inclined her head. “You will have your chance, brave Warden. But all of you must escape. And you cannot do that as you are.”

“Meaning, what, we have to go through some kind of holy ritual to survive, or something?” Varric said. “I don’t know if I buy it.”

“I have come here to help you find your way. You cannot leave this place while your memories are fractured, unwhole. Inquisitor, you do not remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, do you?”

“How can you possibly know that? Or that I’m the Inquisitor?” Lavellan demanded.

“I have examined memories like yours, stolen by the Nightmare. When you entered the Fade at Haven, the demon took part of you. Before you leave this place, you must recover it. You must remember.”

The Inquisitor gave a dark laugh. “Oh, so that’s all? Find a powerful Nightmare demon, politely ask him to give my lost memories back, and we can all go home in time for dinner?”

“Cassandra has a part to play as well.”

Cassandra jumped slightly, startled. “Most Holy?”

The look Justinia gave her was full of regret and grief. “I am sorry. There are only a handful left, but nevertheless, you must recover the rest of your memories, too.”


	17. Chapter 17

“I’m sorry,” Dorian interrupted. “I could’ve sworn you just implied that Cassandra was missing memories, as well.”

Justinia nodded. “She knows the ones.”

On the inside, Cassandra squirmed, well aware that she now had everyone’s attention. She did her best to ignore their curious gazes for the moment. “You mean I must recover _all_ of them? How?”

“You will see for yourself. These are _your_ memories, Inquisitor,” Justinia said, waving her arm out at the path before them.

Before Cassandra could ask another question, demons suddenly sprang up in the path before them, appearing from nowhere and approaching at an alarming rate. Cassandra didn’t hesitate to draw her sword.

The demons were oddly weak. Cassandra took a shade out with little effort, bashing it to the ground to avoid giving it a chance to attack her. When it was defeated, instead of dissolving as usual, it left behind a strange, glowing orb. At first, Cassandra wasn’t sure how to react, but she quickly moved past her surprise, realizing there were still more demons to kill.

When they were all dead, there were glowing orbs spread across the area, hovering, maybe waiting. Lavellan, tucking her staff away, cast a wary glance at Justinia before she reached out to one of those orbs.

Her mark reacted, lighting up and drawing the orb towards Lavellan in a slow string of light. Then, Cassandra heard a voice as though it was coming from all around her, not nearby. “Keep the sacrifice still,” it boomed, deep and threatening.

“Corypheus,” Lavellan murmured, tense. Yet, it steeled her resolve. She approached the other orbs. Cassandra felt deeply on edge. Divine Justinia pleaded for help in one of them. Corypheus spoke of victory in another. With each voice, Cassandra couldn’t help but tighten her grip on the hilt of her sheathed sword.

Finally, with the last one, it burst before them, and they saw the memory play out in full.

Cassandra came out of the memory dazed. It had felt, in some intangible way, like her dreams - powerful and enveloping, even more so while awake. Lavellan seemed to feel the same, staring at her hand for a moment with an unnameable emotion. Then she and the others started to argue about the contents of the dream: the Wardens, Corypheus’ intentions, Lavellan’s Anchor. Cassandra only snapped into focus when Justinia spoke to her again.

“Cassandra. Inquisitor.” Justinia folded her hands together. “You must each regain what the Nightmare took from you. Now you have taken your first steps to doing so, Inquisitor, the Nightmare knows you are here. You must hurry.” She gestured to a path up ahead. “As for you, Cassandra - your memories lie along a different path.” She gestured to another path up ahead, heading in a slightly different direction. “I am afraid there is no other choice. You must leave.”

“Alone?” Cassandra asked, skeptical. Her heart yearned to trust the Divine, but so much of this was strange to her.

“That would be inadvisable. But you must go separately from the Inquisitor, yes, until your paths cross once more at the end.”

“I won’t split up my team,” Lavellan argued. “It’s too dangerous. The Nightmare could pick us off easily.”

“Maybe,” Alistair said, slowly. “But this is the Fade we’re talking about. It might also divide the Nightmare’s attention.”

“You - you can’t be in favor of this,” Hawke said.

“Inquisitor, how do you feel after absorbing that… memory?” Alistair asked.

“Fine,” she replied, crossing her arms.

Alistair turned back to Hawke. “Then we have the Inquisitor’s memory back. It hasn’t done her any harm, has it? And we know more about Corypheus now. I’m not saying we should trust this Divine completely, but the part about the memories… What can it hurt?”

Hawke frowned. “Us. Quite a bit, possibly.”

Lavellan snorted, and turned to look at Cassandra. “What do you think?”

“I…” Cassandra shifted her gaze away, unable to meet Lavellan’s eyes.

“Well, Cassandra? Apparently, you’re the other person who plays a major part in this,” Lavellan continued, not bothering to hold back the scolding in her voice.

“Hey, now, calm down,” Varric interrupted. “I’m sure Cassandra had a good reason for keeping this from us.”

Cassandra shut her eyes. “I - I didn’t think it was relevant,” she said. When nobody replied to her remark, she added, “It was… personal. Though I had intended to tell others soon, anyway. I did not expect to fall into the Fade and find that my memories were suddenly… a matter of any importance.”

“Except now they’ve caused us to sit around here bickering when we should probably get on the move,” Dorian muttered.

Nobody replied to that at first. Then, Lavellan said, “No. That’s our fault, not Cassandra’s.”

Cassandra dared to open her eyes again. Lavellan looked tired and disappointed. Cassandra felt her heart sink a little. She hadn’t realized how much she begun looking to the Inquisitor for approval, and it hurt to feel like she had let her down.

She had to fix this, at least a little. “The memories I’m missing are from the strange future you… encountered at Redcliffe,” she said. “I have many of them, but not all. I have been dreaming of them.”

They all looked confused at that, but Dorian and the Inquisitor were particularly horrified. “How is that possible?” Lavellan asked.

“I’m not sure. But from the sound of it, somehow, this Nightmare has taken the memories that I lack.”

The Inquisitor nodded. “And like me, you need to retrieve them.” She rubbed her forehead with the back of one hand. “Then… Fine. We don’t have the time to waste bickering about this. We’ll do it.”

Cassandra nodded. She started to turn, heading towards the path Justinia had wanted to send her down.

“Hold on,” Dorian said. “You’re not going alone, are you?”

Cassandra turned back. “The Nightmare might not know I’m here yet,” she said. “I assumed -”

Hawke snorted. “You assumed incorrectly,” she said. “Cassandra, I think I can speak for us all when I say we’ll be thrown into the void before we’ll let you go on your own. Varric and I are coming with you. Right, Inquisitor?”

The Inquisitor seemed amused. “I was going to suggest those teams, myself.”

Cassandra frowned. If Lavellan’s experience was accurate, then whoever came with her would see her memories played before them. She wasn’t sure she was comfortable with Varric and Hawke seeing her memories - though, truthfully, the thought of Alistair or Dorian doing so wasn’t any better.

“That alright with you, Seeker?” Varric asked. He was smiling, but Cassandra thought he was holding something back. She wondered if he was beginning to catch on.

“Fine,” she said quietly. She realized afterward how defensive she sounded, but there was no time to take it back.

“Alright. I expect to meet up all three of you soon,” the Inquisitor informed them. She hesitated, then added, “Dareth shiral.”

“You too,” Hawke said, heading past Cassandra with a breezy wave. “See you on the other side.”

“Good luck,” Cassandra wished the Inquisitor.

“Just come back safely,” Lavellan replied, briefly vulnerable. She glanced at Varric, nodded to him, steeled herself, and turned with Dorian and Alistair quick on her heels.

Cassandra, pressing her lips together in grim uncertainty, prayed this would turn out for the best. She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked to her side. Varric gave her a wry smile and started walking in the same direction as Hawke.

Soon, they were on their way. Once it diverged from Lavellan’s, it was a single path, though one full of windings and twists, as well as the same grisly décor which adorned the earlier parts of the Fade.

“Nightmare, huh?” Varric said. “Sounds like it preys on fear. Stealing people’s memories… That’s low, even for a demon.”

“And feeding on them, too… That makes sense,” Cassandra reasoned.

“What does?” Hawke asked.

“According to Solas, my memories were in the Fade somewhere, and then they were taken by some powerful force. That must be the Nightmare.”

“Or the Divine, back there,” Hawke argued. “Also, we don’t know that it’s her. She could be the Nightmare, herself.”

“I’d think a fear-demon would be trying to put some fear into us, not spilling all the beans,” Varric replied. “Even if she’s giving us misinformation, that seems like something some other kind of demon would do.”

“Then maybe she’s another demon who took Seeker Cassandra’s memories?”

“And then immediately gave them back?” Cassandra said.

Hawke chuckled. “You have a point.”

“This is why I hate Fade shit,” Varric grumbled. “None of it ever makes sense.”

“But it does,” said Cassandra, frowning in worry. “Those memories - hardly any of them are good. They… They are full of fear and pain. If the Nightmare has been feeding on them, it has been feeding well, indeed.” She looked at Hawke and Varric, nervous. “If you see my memories… May I ask you to keep them private?”

“There’s something in those memories you don’t want me to see,” Varric accused.

“I wouldn’t want _anyone_ to see them,” she retorted. “They aren’t pretty.”

“Sure, but that’s not all of it. There’s something else.” Her heart raced, fearful.

Cassandra saw demons waiting for them up ahead, and beyond them, Justinia. Even at a distance, her gaze was piercing, communicating something Cassandra couldn’t quite decipher.

She drew her sword. “I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough,” she said.

As with the demons from earlier, they fell easily, even with their reduced party. This time, they dropped the same orbs as before, but these glowed red rather than green as the Inquisitor’s had. Cassandra faltered slightly at the sight, and judging by the way a bolt slid straight past a nearby demon rather than hitting it head-on, she wasn’t alone in that.

She shut that line of thought down, focusing on her blade and her shield with room for nothing else. Sliding her sword through a dying wraith, ignoring its shrieks, and gliding through to the next one, she let herself think only of combat until the last one fell, then dropped her arms, a puppet cut loose from her strings.

“These look different from Lavellan’s,” Hawke remarked, possibly trying to be tactful.

“Perhaps the influence of red lyrium?” Cassandra said, keeping her voice steady.

“Hawke,” Varric interrupted, “I may have, uh, left out a detail or two about what happened at Redcliffe. According to Lavellan, I was… She found me…”

Cassandra took over for him. “Over the course of our imprisonment, the two of us were both dosed with red lyrium. By the time we were freed we were just on the cusp of the advanced stages, most likely, a few weeks away from growing red lyrium out of our very bodies.”

Varric blanched. “Shit. I - I didn’t know it was that bad.”

“ _Red lyrium?_ ” Hawke said. “An alternate future Varric got dosed with _red lyrium_ and you didn’t tell me?”

“Yell at him for it later,” Cassandra ordered. If she was the one whose memories they were retrieving, that put her in charge, didn’t it? She crouched low to the ground, peering at one of the red orbs with nerves she refused to let show. How was she supposed to acquire it?

“How are you not affected, or, upset by this?” Hawke asked, confused.

“She is,” Varric answered for her. “She just doesn’t want to show it the way normal, sensible people do.” Cassandra wasn’t sure when in this timeline he’d figured out how to tell, but she was slightly thankful, considering she was in no mood to explain herself. Grimacing, she stuck a hand out towards the orb. She didn’t have an Anchor, but perhaps it would still…

Cassandra felt something, a chill traveling up her arm, shocking her brain. She heard a voice rattling in her head, quiet at first, then building up until she recognized its nature: a low, horrible scream. Hers. She shuddered, feeling some small piece of her she hadn’t known she was missing settle into place.

“Maker’s breath,” Hawke swore, crossing her arms. “What was that?”

Cassandra shuddered, getting to her feet. “I’m sorry,” she said, stiltedly. “It doesn’t look like this memory is going to be a pleasant one.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a gift for understatement?” Varric asked, surprisingly shaken. Cassandra looked over at him, noticing his white-knuckled grip on Bianca.

“A few have,” she admitted. Shades drifted across her mind: Anthony, Regalyan, Leliana, even Justinia herself. She shook them off, half afraid that here in the Fade they’d manifest if she gave them too much thought, and went to the next orb.

The process went by quickly. The other orbs contained chatter - “Hold her down,” and, “Looks like it might work this time,” each spoken by formless voices she couldn’t recognize. Cassandra had a growing suspicion that this memory would be the final time they tried to dose her with red lyrium. The time they succeeded.

Hawke and Varric hadn’t spoken since the first orb, perhaps out of some kind of respect for her privacy. Hesitantly, she reached out to the last one, bracing herself.

It exploded into red, blinding light.

-

She didn’t fall unconscious, but after the memory played out, she felt thrust back into her body with a force that took the wind out of her, and a throat that ached from screaming. Cassandra doubled over, catching her breath. That memory had been more overwhelming than she had expected.

Varric came to her side and wrapped a supportive arm around her back. Despite herself, she couldn’t help but lean into him, taking comfort. She tried to remind herself that she was safe, far from red lyrium’s influence now, and in no danger of feeling that consuming pain again.

Collecting herself, she realized that the memory had brought friends with it, filling not only that gap but many others like it.

She heard the unsheathing of a sword, and Hawke snapped, “You, standing there, all serene. What are you playing at?”

“It is necessary.” That was Justinia’s voice again. Cassandra looked up - Hawke had Justinia at swordpoint, though Justinia didn’t even react to the steel hardly an inch from her throat. “Cassandra is unwhole. She must-”

“Maybe I’d buy that if this was doing her any good,” Hawke said, cutting her off. “But I just witnessed an amount of pain I’m surprised anyone could survive, never mind recover from. What are you?”

“I only wish to help,” said Justinia.

“You keep saying that,” Hawke argued. “What’s going to happen if Cassandra tries to leave without her memories? And why her?”

“Come to think of it, that’s a good point,” Varric added. “I was there, too. Why do I get a free pass and not her?”

“The Nightmare knows you are here now, Cassandra,” Justinia said, ignoring the others. “You had best get moving. It will not be pleased to find that you have begun to take power back from it.”

Cassandra stared at her for a long moment. She wanted to say this was out of character for Justinia, but she couldn't be sure. There was a side to Justinia that Cassandra had only barely known, the side that commanded Leliana with ease, refused to answer questions when the answers were forbidden, and lent steel to her voice when kindness would not suffice. It was that side of Justinia that she saw now.

“If you are truly the Divine, then you must be dead, yet somehow still here,” Cassandra said quietly, as much out of calmness as lingering hoarseness in her voice. “Were you living as we are, your movements would be hampered like ours. But you go between us and the Inquisitor as you please, don’t you?”

Justinia’s sorrow deepened, her mouth tightened. “Yes.”

Cassandra bowed her head, her grief renewed. “Thank you,” she murmured to Varric, gently shrugging his arm off. Slowly, she straightened up again, stretching her limbs out. “Let her go, Hawke.”

Hawke grimaced, lowering her sword with clear reluctance. “Are you certain?”

“I am not,” Cassandra said, “but I also think we have little choice.”

With a long sigh, Hawke sheathed her sword, though she continued to glare a hole through Justinia’s head.

“Let’s get going,” Cassandra suggested, avoiding looking at Justinia. She wasn’t sure what to believe. “We can’t let the Inquisitor get too far ahead of us.”

“As good a plan as any,” Varric muttered. He held himself rigidly, distantly. Cassandra looked away. The wriggling at the bottom of her stomach felt a great deal like guilt.

With no more chatter, the three of them continued on. There was a tension between them all that she didn’t know how to break. It was very possible, Cassandra thought sourly, that Justinia truly was an aspect of a demon. After all, with hardly any intervention, she had managed to cause this dissent between the three of them.

Hawke, at the front of the party, seethed quietly, trudging forward with reluctance, but it wasn’t anger driving her. Varric, on the other hand, was unnatural, a stone wall, completely unreadable. Cassandra couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but the way he held himself apart from both herself and Hawke said a great deal about his state of mind.

It was doubt. They doubted, _she_ doubted. That doubt was making them fragile, Cassandra thought. Not religious doubt, of course - Cassandra had always kept the impression that Hawke wasn’t exactly the type - but doubt in their course of action, in each other. It separated them. Worse, she knew it was her fault. She wished she knew how to mend this. Somebody stronger, better at holding people together, would be able to mend this. Cassandra was not that person. She didn’t know where to start.

They’d ascended a set of stairs and found themselves on a large plateau when a booming voice interrupted her thoughts. “And here we have the rest.” Cassandra stilled her shoulders, preventing a shudder, at the sound. “I’d wondered. That thieving little girl didn’t seem like the kind to bring only two bodyguards with her.”

“Nightmare,” Cassandra murmured, unsheathing her sword once more.

“Well, now that you’re here, you might as well enjoy yourself. Take your fears. The terror inside them has strengthened me more than enough. Though as I told the other one, it will do you no good to have them back. Whatever put that silly little idea in your head?”

There was a squelching noise on the edge of her perception, forcing her to focus once more on the road ahead. Before them, she saw maggots, worms - disgusting creatures, inching their way towards them, dripping with slime. Unbidden, a shiver slid down Cassandra’s spine.

The Nightmare could not have picked better - which was no surprise, she supposed. Already she felt as if they were crawling up her skin, leaving tracks she would never clean.

A bolt flew past her and sunk into a maggot’s flesh, goring it straight through, and Cassandra gave a grim approximation of a smile. At least these creatures would cut cleanly.

She thought she heard the Nightmare laughing as she slashed onward.

-

Their path fell into silence again, after that. Either the Nightmare was simply biding its time, or Alistair’s suggestion of dividing its attention was succeeding, somehow. She wouldn’t have thought it possible for a being that could project its voice across this realm with ease.

She almost wished it would do so again. Hawke and Varric seemed lost in thought, and remained closed off to her. Logically, Cassandra knew she could trust them each with her life, but the lack of response to her memory was starting to disturb her. What did they think of her?

Honestly, what did she think of herself, at this point? Perhaps it was up to her to say something.

“I’m sorry you had to witness that memory,” she said at last, because it was something. “I imagine it was difficult.”

Varric coughed on a laugh, briefly breaking his distant demeanor. “ _Difficult_?”

“ _Witnessing_ that was difficult?” Hawke said, equally incredulous. “Varric’s right. Something is very, very wrong with you.”

Cassandra sighed. “That was - bad,” she said, ignoring Hawke’s eye-roll at the understatement. “However, I expected it, and I had made my peace with its… ramifications… long before this.”

“How long?” Varric asked.

“Since nearly as long ago as Lavellan’s trip into the future, itself.”

Varric looked away, falling silent again. Cassandra still had no idea what he was thinking, but his continued distance worried her.

Hawke groaned, drawing Cassandra’s attention. “Fine, if you say so. Just know that you don’t have to _apologize_ to us for that, of all things. It’s not as if you could help it. That was among the worst things I’ve ever seen.”

“I don’t need pity,” Cassandra said sharply. “If you must, be sympathetic later.”

Varric snorted. “Not so much pity as caring about you, Seeker.”

The words were very quiet, but they made Cassandra breathe out, sending all her anger and bluster along with the air. “Right,” she said, understanding, though the idea of Hawke acting _kind_ to her because of that memory rankled. Maker, maybe something was wrong with her. She seemed to prefer it when Hawke was a bit of an asshole.

“Isn’t it about time the Nightmare showed his ugly face?” Hawke asked, trying to change the subject for some reason.

“Yes, and I should hate to disappoint.”

A shiver crawled up Cassandra’s spine. The return of its voice had taken her off guard.

“You’ll get nothing from us,” Cassandra murmured. Ahead, she saw the Fade twisting before her into new, unfamiliar shapes. The path wound again, down stairs and up more stairs once more. She saw hazy shapes - the shimmering door of a magical vault, and a great tree spiraling towards the sky - fragments of bad dreams, she knew, simply because they hurt to look at.

“I don’t have to take from you,” said the Nightmare, amused. “You will come to me in your own time. You are already afraid. I only have to wait to see what finally causes each of you to crumble.”

Maggots wormed their way out of the ground, stinking of filth. Cassandra suppressed another shudder, feeling distant as she pulled her sword out. For all their disgustingness, and for all the danger they posed, she couldn’t focus on them. Instead, the Nightmare’s voice rang in her head.

“Take you, Varric. You’ve really done it this time, haven’t you? You found the red lyrium, Varric. You’re responsible for everything it has wrought - it would never have come to this if you hadn’t stuck your greedy nose where it didn’t belong. You brought Hawke here, dragging her once more into danger, and now you’ve brought Cassandra into it too… What a talent you have for putting your friends through great ordeals of pain.”

Varric chuckled darkly, patting Bianca. “Keep talking, smiley.” Quietly, Cassandra admired him for that - undoubtedly, the Nightmare was uncovering shadows that lurked in his mind, and he merely laughed at it.

They passed by the vault door - had there been that blood spatter on it when they’d first seen it? Cassandra wondered, still detached.

“Hawke. Hawke, Hawke, Hawke. Did you think you mattered? Did you think anything you did _ever_ mattered?” It laughed again. “You couldn’t rescue your brother - not that you’re even sure you wanted to. You couldn’t help your lover, who might not even forgive you, for all you know. Even when things finally felt like they were going right, you couldn’t protect your mother. And who could forget how you failed to save your city? It burned, and they kicked you out. How could you think you have any power over your fate, let alone enough to strike down a god?”

Something about that got to Hawke, Cassandra saw. She couldn’t cover it quite as well as Varric - her jaw twitched, and her gaze darkened, dampened with a sort of despair. Still, Hawke found the time to slice a maggot and half, let go of her sword with one hand, and send a lewd gesture towards the sky. Varric laughed, and Cassandra couldn’t help but smile a little.

Of course, then it decided to speak to her.

“And dear Cassandra, how could I forget you? Your memories are some of the most delightful I’ve had in a long, long time. All that pain. And all of it your fault. I could tell you about how you’re going to fail, and how the red lyrium will get to you again, corrupting you despite your best efforts… But that doesn’t scare you half so much, does it, as knowing Varric will succumb first.” Cassandra flinched. “Your Seeker training will do nothing. Your faith means nothing. In the end, you are weak, and your doubts will consume you before the lyrium ever does.”

Cassandra watched as the great tree before her withered, its leaves turning dark and its trunk graying, then pulsing, growing darker. Blighted, she thought to herself. Blighted like the darkspawn, to the core. A corruption nothing could withstand. That thought pressed upon her mind with importance, though she wasn’t sure what to do with it.

She realized she had been silent for sometime when the Nightmare spoke again. “No comment? No matter. The longer you dawdle, the better for me. But let me leave you for now, in peace. That Inquisitor of yours demands my attention, and you require none of mine.”

The storm of maggots ended, and the presence of the Nightmare seemed to fade. Cassandra sheathed her sword again, quieted.

There was a nudge at her elbow. “Seeker. You’re not letting big scary get to you, are you?”

She thought about pretending, but there was no point. “Perhaps I am,” she said.

“You know, I’ve heard this saying about courage,” Varric said. “Something about it being not the absence of fear, but the ability to act even when you feel it. Or something like that.”

“Sounds like a load of bullshit,” Cassandra said, managing a small smile. Maker only knew how he managed to pull one out of her. She heard Hawke snort behind them.

“Yeah, probably,” Varric agreed amiably. “Anyway, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll personally promise to put a nice big explosive bolt in every spear of red lyrium I see. How’s that sound?”

“Like you’re trying to comfort me, badly. But I appreciate it.” Cassandra sighed. “Let’s just move on.”

“It can’t be fair to be up against an enemy that can read your mind,” Hawke grumbled. “That’s just cheating. He practically accused me of killing my own brother.”

“You know the truth. No one ever said demons were fair, Hawke,” Varric replied.

It was draining just being in this place. They couldn’t have been here for more than an hour or so, yet they all sounded exhausted. Would they even make it? Was the demon right, that all it had to do was wait?

Truthfully, Cassandra didn’t know.

Stuck in grim thoughts, Cassandra didn’t look up until Hawke swore under her breath, shocked.

Twisting above them, in perfect parallel with the path below them, there was another ground, with its own gravity. To her right, she saw a waterfall, split in two - one side crashing into the cliffs at her side, and the other part falling upwards, into the cliffs up above. She could see the Inquisitor, Dorian, and Alistair walking the path, upside-down from her perspective, looking just as tired as her own group did.

“Time for some entertainment,” the Nightmare said. “I think I’ll allow you to watch.”

The maggots rose from the ground ahead of the Inquisitor. Cassandra felt sick. From this angle, by all logical rights, they should have been falling on her head. The strange gravity of this place was messing with her sense of direction.

She couldn’t hear the Nightmare speak, but she knew it was there. She saw Lavellan shout at it, but she couldn’t hear the words.

“Inquisitor!” Hawke shouted. “Don’t let him win!”

Lavellan showed no signs of hearing the words.

“We must be cut off somehow,” said Varric, disgusted. “He wants us to watch our friends die.”

“They won’t die,” Cassandra said with certainty. But they were being overwhelmed, ever so slightly.

“Cassandra,” Hawke said, catching her attention. Cassandra looked over. Hawke’s eyes were glinting with some kind of mischief. “What was it you said before?”

“I don’t know.” She had a bad feeling about this. “What do you mean?”

“Something about the ground,” Hawke said in that cocky voice of hers, easing into a stance for battle. “You know Cassandra, I think you’re a delight, but I’ve got something over you.”

She never did stop, did she? “What might that be?”

“Imagination,” she said, putting on a dazzling smile. “Sorry about this. Good luck.”

Before Cassandra could comprehend what Hawke was doing, she was already off. She ran at the cliffside, and, to Cassandra’s shock, ran _up_ it, straight alongside the waterfall.

“Hawke, no!” Varric shouted. “Hawke!”

“Andraste’s - get back here!” Cassandra shouted.

But Hawke continued up the side, and then made a leap - an incredible leap, all the way across the chasm, flipping herself around halfway across - and she landed straight in the waterfall going up, skidding up the side of the cliff on the opposite path. Cassandra began to breathe again as she landed safely on the other side, and started making quick work of the maggots swarming around Lavellan and the others.

The Nightmare was laughing again. She couldn’t quite hear it, but it boomed through the ground, rattling loose pebbles in the strange Fade dirt.

Varric sighed.

“That was the most foolish stunt I have ever seen,” Cassandra said, awed.

“Hawke thinks impossible things are just challenges that haven’t met her yet,” Varric grumbled. “They’ll be fine now that she’s with them, and I’m sure that little trick satisfied the Nightmare’s sadist streak for now. Let’s not stick around.”

“Right.”

There was still a distance between them that Cassandra wasn’t entirely sure how to breach. Without Hawke to balance them, she felt off-kilter. Knowing Hawke, that had been part of her intention. She’d meant to give the two of them a chance to fix things.

Cassandra knew they could, given time. She only wondered how much time they truly had.


	18. Chapter 18

“Seeker,” Varric began. “The whole stolen memories thing. I’ve got a question for you.”

She hadn’t expected him to bring it up so soon.

The part of the Fade they walked had separated from the Inquisitor’s party again. They had come to a large area, a clearing.

The amount of red lyrium seemed to have grown the farther they went into the Nightmare’s domain - it was beginning to thicken, growing out of the ground at heights far taller than her head. Demons and shades roamed nearby, ignoring or avoiding the red lyrium and gliding about at will. At the clearing’s center, there was an enormous dwarven statue, perhaps of one of the Paragons. It wore a dulled crown, and it was cracked in the center. Cassandra wondered if being stuck with Varric had brought it here, somehow.

“Yes?” she said, looking at the statue to avoid looking at him.

“Is that what you were going to tell me about, after Adamant?”

Cassandra blinked. It was an intuitive guess on his part. “It was,” she said. “You deserved to know. I am sorry I did not tell you sooner.”

“You intended to,” Varric said, with surprising gentleness. “Unless you somehow knew we were going to fall directly into the damn Fade itself, I’m sure you didn’t think it was going to come up, otherwise.”

“I’ll admit, I did not see that coming.”

“Then no harm done,” he said.

“Are you not mad at me?” she blurted, unable to keep from asking. She dared a look at his face.

He seemed thoughtful, maybe hesitant, shifting his weight back and forth. “No,” he said slowly. “I’m not mad at you. But I don’t know what to think,” he said. “It’s a lot to take in. And _you’re_ still hiding something.”

Cassandra looked away again. “As I said before, I’m certain you’ll find out soon enough.”

“You’ve already told me we were nearly turned into big fucking pillars of red lyrium in that timeline,” Varric said bluntly. “What could possibly be worse than that?”

What was she to say to that? She knew what she was hiding at this point, what she was wary of. It was - it was the love she had bore for him, in that world. And he for her. A love that was theirs, and not theirs - and one that he would never share with her. Memories he would never carry as she did.

It was knowledge she wished she’d never had, and at the same time, she wondered if she would ever have come so close to him without it. It frightened her to imagine that she might not have.

She couldn’t explain that to Varric. She couldn’t.

“Fine, fine, keep your secrets,” Varric said, tired. “Look sharp. I think the demons are coming back.”

Maggots, again. Maker, she was sick and tired of maggots.

“I hate these blasted things,” she swore.

“Me too,” he said. “They’re disgusting,” he added, wincing as one’s guts splattered all over her shield.

“Completely,” she agreed.

“And all those legs -”

“ _Legs_?” said Cassandra, bewildered. “What legs?”

“The legs? The eight Maker-cursed spider legs creeping all over?”

“You see spiders?” she asked, surprised. “I see maggots, crawling around in filth.”

Varric actually laughed. “Fear demons!” he shouted. “I really, really _hate_ fear demons!”

“Now that, I can agree with,” Cassandra said. She should have guessed that sooner. It was not chance dictating that they took the shape of one of her least favorite creatures. That which was in the Fade could be seen differently. Not falsely, exactly, but differently.

It was a short wave of maggots this time, likely only meant to stall them on their way. As they came to the end of the clearing, long past the dwarven statue and the blood seeping from its lips, Cassandra caught sight of Divine Justinia again.

She was glowing.

“The Nightmare is closer,” she said the moment they were in earshot. “It knows you seek escape. It wishes to bar your way.”

“By scaring the shit out of us?” Varric asked, skeptical.

“It is not simply fear,” Justinia said sternly. “It is the terror you cannot remember, the horror your mind erases to protect you.”

“Like that timeline?” Cassandra asked in a moment of inspiration. She did not call her Most Holy, consciously. “Is that a fear my mind erased to protect me?”

“It is similar, yes,” Justinia agreed.

“Tell me,” Cassandra said. “If it would protect my mind to have those memories erased, why do you insist I should have them back?”

“The protection is short-lived. It is the same with trauma and young children,” Justinia said, glowing brighter. She did not sound like herself - she sounded automatic, as if reciting a hollow speech from a sheet of paper. “They forget, for their own health, in the short term. But in the long term, they still remember, only they bury it deep within the recesses of their mind. They become plagued by doubts and nightmares. Often, if they remember, they can put the memory to rest, and grow stronger for it. The concept applies here. Had the Nightmare never found those memories you would never have needed them back. But it did, and so you require their power if you are to truly break free.”

“But I’ve been rediscovering the memories for months,” said Cassandra. “How is that possible, if the Nightmare had them?”

Then Justinia seemed to be herself again. She stared at Cassandra with a deep, stony sorrow, and said nothing.

Cassandra’s voice cracked. “Will you not answer me?”

Justinia turned, waving ahead of them. The demons were already there, waiting.

“Fine,” Cassandra snarled with sudden anger, turning away.

Varric was already ahead of her. One of his bolts had already ripped into the shade she was charging. She slammed the point of her sword into the tear in its false flesh provided by the bolt, and ripped upward, her bladework sloppy with anger. It reared back, screeching, and she took advantage of its retreat, thrusting her shield to knock it down.

Another bolt from Varric felled it, and Cassandra wasted little time, pivoting to catch a rage demon’s lunge with the hilt of her sword. She brought her shield around again, slamming it once, twice into the demon. Wanting to skewer it, she nearly charged ahead again, but she noticed that the other demons were beginning to crowd her. Cursing loudly in words she wouldn’t remember, she put her shield between herself and the demons, backing away.

Void take Hawke for leaving them in this alone, she thought.

“Back up, Seeker!” Varric barked behind her.

“Trying,” she replied. A wraith lingering in the background sent a bolt of magic at her, taking her off guard. It burned her side, but she held her ground, gritting her teeth. Varric took it down a moment later.

They hounded her, pounding against her shield. She was forced to use her sword for defense as well, blocking with little opportunity for anything else. Her side still burned, and she longed to down a health potion. She waited, and held, praying for Varric to intervene.

“Got it!” he shouted triumphantly. For a moment, Cassandra had no idea what he was talking about. Then, just as she was about to question him, a wave of heat rushed past her shield. As far as she could see in any direction, explosions burst, causing her ears to ring slightly.

When the fire died down, only the rage demon remained standing. The rest had dissipated, a number of them replaced by glowing red orbs. Numbly, Cassandra swung at the remaining demon. It attacked a final time, then shrank, defeated.

Slightly shaken, Cassandra found a health potion and drank it after a bit of fumbling with the bottle. The burning in her side began to fade, and she rubbed at it underneath her armor, starting to calm.

“Like it?” Varric said cockily. “It’s a whole array of new mines I’ve been working on,” he explained. “I’ll admit it took me longer to prepare them than I'd hoped, but they worked pretty well once they got going, I’d say. I’ll be faster in the future.”

“Handy,” Cassandra agreed, still catching her breath. “How many times can you do that?”

“Well...” He made a puzzled frown, calculating. “Uh, a lot.”

“Good. We might need it.”

Varric laughed, but the humor faded quickly as his eyes fell upon the red orbs left in the demons' wake. “So… shall we?”

Cassandra eyed the orbs warily. When she looked back, Justinia, or whatever being had assumed her form, was once again conveniently missing. “I suppose,” she said slowly. The thrill of combat had sapped her of her anger once again.

She reached for the first orb. When it spoke, a hard ball of worry formed in her throat. The voice was hers, doubled and marred by red lyrium. “Maker forgive me, I failed you, I failed _everyone_.”

“Maker’s breath,” Varric swore quietly. “Was that you?”

Cassandra sighed. “Yes.”

She touched another.

“Good to see you, Seeker,” said Varric, his voice just as marred by the lyrium.

“Was that _me?_ ” Varric asked. What a foolish question. Cassandra didn’t answer, preferring to touch the third orb.

“I should have been there to help you,” Lavellan said softly.

There was only one orb left. By this time, Cassandra thought she had a good sense of what this was. Bracing herself, she reached for the final orb, and felt herself thrust into a memory, now remembered.

-

“For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water,” Cassandra murmured. “As the moth sees light and goes toward flame, she should see fire and go towards Light.”

She stared at the ground, incanting with only the barest attention to the words. She heard footsteps, and glanced up with little hope of seeing anything but another pair of guards, making their sparse rounds to ensure she had not moved.

But some strange sensation niggled at her senses. Something was different about these guards, or something had come with them. Frowning at the sensation, she glanced up.

She saw Lavellan first, and lifted her head, shocked. Was the lyrium causing hallucinations now? Lavellan nearly glowed. She was completely unharmed. She looked as brilliant and full of life as the very day Cassandra had seen her destroyed by Alexius’ hand.

“You’ve returned,” Cassandra said cautiously. “Can it be? Has Andraste given us another chance?” She lowered her eyes again. “Maker forgive me, I failed you, I failed _everyone_. The end must truly be upon us if the dead return to life.”

“I’m not back from the dead, Cassandra, I just got… Well, this is hard to explain.”

“I was _there_. The magister obliterated you with a gesture.”

“Alexius sent us forward in time,” Dorian interrupted. She hadn’t noticed him. Maker, she needed to pull herself together - Varric. Varric stood behind Dorian. His eyes were solemn, fixed on her, and magic hung in the air around him, tainting it. Like her.

Dorian continued, oblivious. “If we find him, we may be able to return to the present.”

Tearing her eyes away from Varric, Cassandra rose to her feet and strode toward the Inquisitor. “Go back in time? Then… can you…” She hesitated on the words, her mind running over the events of the past year with despair. Her eyes flicked to Varric, who remained silent, and then to Lavellan again. “Can you make it so that none - none of this ever took place?”

“That’s my hope,” Lavellan swore.

“Alexius’ master…” Cassandra rambled for a moment, trying to remember every detail she knew about the Elder One’s reign. She still felt scattered, unbalanced, but she thought she communicated the point - the horde of demons, Celene, everything.

The Inquisitor’s expression grew softer the longer she babbled. “I should have been there to help you,” she said softly when Cassandra was done.

As ever, Lavellan manage to stir hope within Cassandra where none had been found. “You’re here now,” she said, surprising herself with a hint of affection.

“Come,” Lavellan said. “Can you fight?”

“You would be surprised how well,” Cassandra agreed. The curse of the red lyrium gave her as much strength as it took. “Do you have weapons?”

“Scraped up a few from some leftover guards,” Varric said. She hadn’t known until then what a comfort it would be to hear his voice. “Even got you a shield,” he said. Cassandra wondered if Dorian or Lavellan could hear the stifled bitterness in that remark. A shield would have done them wonders during their first escape attempt.

Dorian passed a sword and shield to her, as well as some basic armor. “Thank you,” she said.

“I’m going to investigate the other cells with Lavellan while you armor up,” he said. “Hurry.”

Cassandra nodded.

Before she started to outfit herself, Varric put a hand on her arm. Cassandra closed her eyes.

Thank Andraste. He yet lived.

“Good to see you, Seeker,” Varric rasped, his words heavy with relief. “You okay?”

“Better now,” she admitted. She opened her eyes again, drinking in the look of him. “I have only weeks left. I did not think I would see you again.”

“Neither did I,” Varric said. He slid his hand down her arm to grasp her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I don’t think we have time for pleasantries.”

“No,” Cassandra agreed. “We do not.” She let go of his hand, stooping to grab the pair of boots given to her.

“Seeker… If we pull this off, none of this will have ever happened.”

“That’s right,” she replied.

“Does that bother you?”

Cassandra tilted her head. “Not really. Much of this, I would rather had never happened.”

Varric seemed hesitant to respond. “And… the rest of it?”

Hearing a vulnerability to his voice, Cassandra finished donning her second boot, and turned to him. Carefully, she knelt, then took his hand. As a knight would her liege, she kissed the back of it, and cradled it in her own. “You have been a… companion when I needed one,” she began, speaking slowly so she would not fumble over the words. “I have relied on you, as you have on me, when I never expected I could. You have given me faith, Varric. I would like to think that if that Maker grants us a second chance at this, then we will not waste it. I would like to think we will end up here regardless, in a world where such things are free to flourish, rather than suffocating beneath the weight of a world on the brink of collapse. Whatever happens, or does not, I will have no regrets.”

Varric let silence carry her words for a little, allowing them to settle into place. “That’s a lovely story,” he finally said, with a smile that creaked at the edges.

Cassandra smiled back at him, rising to her feet. “Leave,” she ordered. “We have a battle to fight.”

“As you wish, my lady,” he said with a mock courtly bow.

Cassandra snorted, forcing herself to turn away, and put such things from her mind.

The red lyrium in her sang, excited for the blood to be spilled, and she began again the chant in her mind, willing the corruption away with song and verse.

-

Cassandra felt tears in her eyes as she returned to herself. She knew lesser memories had come with that one, filling in the blanks. She realized, startled, that with that memory had come… everything. There were no blanks now. She could remember every moment too-vividly.

And strangely, it gave her a sort of peace. It was a comfort to know that at last, it was done. Perhaps she would go over them in more detail, another time.

Wiping the tears from her eyes, she turned to Varric, a little afraid of what she would see in him.

He was rubbing at his eyes as well. “That was intense,” he croaked.

“Very.”

“So was that the big secret?” Varric asked. “Some kind of extended doomed romance thing right under Alexius’ nose?”

He _would_ find the most irreverent way to put it. “Something like that.”

“And that’s why you’re interested in me now?”

The question surprised her. She flinched back. “No. It - it may have greased the wheels a little, so to speak,” she admitted. “But my… my feelings are my own, Varric. They are… similar. But…” She remembered a light in his eyes as he shuffled a deck, some quip about her hopelessness on the tip of his tongue. Her cards were already on the table, she supposed. There was no use bluffing now. “I think I have come to love you in my own way,” she admitted.

“Oh,” Varric said. Cassandra thought she’d shocked him speechless, the way he stared at her, wide-eyed. “I… see.”

Perhaps that was all she was going to get from him. Cassandra’s courage wilted. She looked to the path ahead of them, trying to stave off a wave of despair. Ahead of them, the being that had been Justinia glowed. It now only clung to the mere vestiges of her form. While her outline could still be seen, she appeared now as a being of light more than a human.

“I suppose we should continue,” she said, trying not to let grief stain her words.

“Cassandra.”

She looked at him again. “Yes?”

Varric heaved a long sigh. “I need to think about… all this. I think I get why you didn’t want to tell me about it earlier. But, uh…” He cleared his throat. “I don’t think it’ll matter. Don’t think this is over, you hear me, Seeker? Don’t think - don’t think I’m about to stop caring just because some weird Fade shit decided to fuck with your - _our_ lives.”

Relief blossomed in Cassandra’s heart, leaving her momentarily breathless. “Thank you, Varric,” she said, smiling a little.

He actually flushed slightly, and began deflecting. “Let’s just kick this Nightmare’s ass so we can get to having a good talk later, alright?”

“Right,” Cassandra said, “but I have a little bit of other business first.” Turning away from Varric with renewed purpose, she approached Justinia with no fear.

“Cassandra,” Justinia said, still sorrowful.

“You,” Cassandra said. “How much of you is a spirit, and how much of you is Most Holy, as I knew her?”

“I do not know,” said Justinia.

How convenient, Cassandra thought. “Will you answer my question? As to why I have these memories?”

“Yes,” Justinia said.

Cassandra knew her surprise was plain on her face.

Justinia glanced away, and glided slightly backwards. “I am the cause,” she declared. “The memories that belonged to you and Leliana came to this domain. When I found them, I knew I could not let the Nightmare keep them. I did not suspect that you would ever come to the Fade to claim them for yourself. As such, I ferreted them away, as often as I could without the Nightmare taking notice of my presence. With them, I believed you would be stronger.”

“You believed - you did not know?” Cassandra asked.

“I was right, was I not? Here you stand before me, complete once more.”

“But you did not _know,_ ” Cassandra growled. “You only gambled. I have spent months enduring this pain. Months! Months of tearing myself half to pieces with worry over what was going on, over who I was and what had happened to me. I have _suffered_ for what you have done. Whether I am stronger for it, I don’t know. Why have you done this? What did you hope to accomplish?”

“I hoped to win,” said Justinia. Her face was hard. “I have always believed in you two. You and Leliana have always been full of youth, power, and faith. I knew when I delivered those memories to you that you would suffer for it. I willingly condemned you to that fate.”

“Then you are not Most Holy, for I can’t believe she would ever have done such a thing.” To me, Cassandra almost added. I can’t believe she would ever have done such a thing to me.

“And that is why you were my Right Hand, Cassandra, and not my Left.” Justinia lowered her eyes. “I did what I felt I had to do. I do not regret it. Even if my actions lead to the destruction of the Nightmare, as I hope they will, I am sorry. I have failed you both.”

“Damn you!” Cassandra snarled. Enraged, she swung her sword out.

Justinia disappeared into mere trails of light before it struck. Cassandra abruptly calmed down, ashamed of her lack of control, and feeling acutely bereft of something she couldn’t place just then.

“I’m sorry, Seeker,” Varric said.

“So am I,” Cassandra said. She shuddered. “I hate this place. I’m not certain if it is the Fade itself, or the red lyrium, or the company, but I feel as if every little thing is affecting my emotions tenfold.”

“Maybe it is.” Varric shrugged. “But it could also just be the fact that the Fade has decided you’re its favorite victim today. I’ve heard that being emotional is a common side-effect of bullshit happening to you.”

“That’s almost reassuring,” Cassandra remarked, at least comforted that Varric didn’t think she was making a complete fool of herself.

“Anyway, look what I found,” Varric said. He lifted Bianca, pointing at a point in the distance up ahead. “See that?”

Cassandra squinted slightly. It took her a moment, but she caught sight of what he meant. Just behind the cliffs in the distance, she could see a green sort of magic hovering in the air. “The rift,” she said.

“We’re close,” Varric confirmed. “Not far to go now.”

“Not far at all.”

-

The trail led them through a dark tunnel, lit only barely by the occasional torch and bits of red lyrium embedded in the walls. Cassandra put a hand on Varric’s shoulder to ensure that the darkness did not part them, though truthfully, it was hardly a necessary measure. Varric didn’t seem to mind.

They walked in silence, steeling themselves to meet with the Nightmare. There was no telling if they would be able to defeat it, or if such a being could be defeated at all.

Cassandra wrestled with her thoughts. It seemed to her that she had to accept one of two things. Either the spirit was not Justinia, and it used its form only to torment her, or it was as close to Justinia as a spirit could be, and the Divine had betrayed her.

And it broke her heart to admit that her instincts were telling her the latter might be true.

Cassandra knew that Justinia, as Divine, had committed deeds through Leliana that she had never been aware of. She didn’t know exactly what those deeds were, and she had never wanted to. But she suspected, if Leliana’s bearing was indication, that those actions had moved people around like chess pieces, biddable to her whims and sacrificed for what must be done.

She didn’t want to believe that she had become a chess piece herself, but it seemed to be the truth.

Justinia had made her move. She had chosen Cassandra, for whatever reason, to stand against the Nightmare. But how? What was she supposed to have gained from those memories that she could not have had otherwise? Could she truly influence things? It seemed like an impossible task, to set one woman against the might of a lord among demons.

But then, it wasn’t as if she was alone, Cassandra thought, casting an eye to Varric.

At any rate, there was nothing for it but to try.

They saw a light at the end of the tunnel, and knew the Nightmare had to be close. By silent agreement, Cassandra drew steel, and Varric readied Bianca.

A glowing being appeared before them. Only the barest traces of Justinia’s form remained now - most distinctly, the regal mitre atop her head, as though the office of the Divine was the last part of her human life she still clung to.

“Your allies are ahead. Fight, then run,” she said. “Defeat the manifestation of the Nightmare here, and the Elder One’s demon army will fall with it. The rift you seek lies just beyond.”

“Beyond what?” Varric asked.

They turned the corner at a quick pace, and stared. They had come, unmistakably, to what could only be a battlefield, where the final confrontation would take place. There were tall, spiked pillars of red lyrium all over, giving the field a slight crimson haze and setting Cassandra on edge. She could see the open rift at the end of a rocky outcrop, past the Nightmare, of course.

The Nightmare appeared to have taken two forms. Its first resembled the usual form of the demon, perhaps as tall as the Iron Bull, with six spindly appendages bursting from its back, walking forward on stilts where there should have been legs.

Behind it, there lurked a larger form, like a spider the size of Skyhold itself. The true body, Cassandra thought to herself, grimacing.

“I am sorry, Cassandra,” Justinia continued, gliding by, “Tell Leliana, I have failed her. I am sorry for it all.”

Cassandra realized too late what she was planning. “Most Holy!” she shouted, but the thing was already done.

What remained of Justinia glowed brighter, becoming a blinding sunburst of light. Cassandra shut her eyes, shying away. She heard a drawn-out humming noise, and then it shattered, accompanied by a muted scream.

Opening her eyes, Cassandra saw the fruit of Justinia’s efforts. While its smaller body remained, the spider was gone. Obliterated. While Cassandra doubted it would be gone forever, or even for very long, there was little doubt that Justinia had just struck an incredible blow.

She had given them time.

“Come on!” Lavellan’s voice startled Cassandra. Distracted by Justinia, she hadn’t noticed that the others had come to this place too, entering from a tunnel off to her side. “Let’s not waste this chance!”

Cassandra could agree with that sentiment.

Hefting her sword, she charged the Nightmare, imagining how satisfactory it would be to slice its demonic head clean off. It keened, raising a magical barrier. From elsewhere, its voice boomed. “Fear will take you to your graves!”

The barrier put Cassandra on her guard. She wouldn’t be able to knock the Nightmare down, though perhaps she should have figured that out in the first place. Dorian and Lavellan began to slam the demon with as much power as they could bear. Lavellan’s hands crackled and glowed with untameable energy, while Dorian’s staff spat a finely controlled jet of fire over their heads.

Meanwhile, Cassandra found a better target for her sword. The Nightmare had called upon more wretched maggots, and they were beginning to circle their group. “More of its minions!” she shouted.

“Keep them busy!” Lavellan ordered. “Dorian and I will signal you!”

“On it,” said Alistair. Nearly synchronized, he and Cassandra turned away, engaging with the maggots as they squirmed their way over. Hawke followed soon after, though rather than putting up a defense as Alistair and Cassandra had done, she chose to cut a line straight through, and began to engage a swarm of them from behind. Cassandra heard a series of brief explosions behind her, and smiled grimly at the thought that Varric was playing with his toys again.

The damn things were spitting, now. She caught a corrosive wad of its spit with the top of her shield, wincing at the thought of what it might have done to her face, and wondering if the others saw it as venom. Then, she realized the danger, and backed off, covering Dorian’s back as best as she could. He was trying to do something, muttering to himself while flames began to flicker all the way down his staff, and Cassandra thought it might be a good idea to see him uninterrupted.

As the maggots began to thin, she heard the sharp pop of Lavellan’s thunder, and Dorian let loose a massive fireball. Cassandra waited for the heat at her back to pass, and when it did,  Lavellan shouted, “It’s down!”

Cassandra stabbed one of the maggots straight to the heart, then turned. The Nightmare screeched and clacked. “You will accomplish nothing. You will all fail, and see Thedas burned to ashes!” Cassandra ignored it. With the barrier down, it was more vulnerable. Its skin was tough in many places, and difficult to cut.

Then the Nightmare turned, deciding its attention was better placed on her.

It lashed out with its appendages, trying to snag parts of her armor and rip it off. Cassandra barely avoided having a gauntlet violently torn off her arm, wrenching her elbow out of its grasp at the last second. Then it reared back.

Cassandra planted her feet, preparing to stand her ground, just as the Nightmare charged at her. She managed to block its swipe, bringing her shield around to catch both its arms, but the effort rattled her arm, shaking it half-numb. Growling, she slid her shield out from under its arms and tried to land a blow. She managed a slice on the back of one of its retreating arms, for all the good it did her. While the cut seeped dark blood, it was hardly a mortal blow.

“You’re nothing!” it shouted. Changing tactics, the Nightmare floated a little higher and raised its arms to the skies, preparing to cast a spell.

Seeing this, Cassandra seized the opportunity. The Nightmare was hardy, and her blows did little, but she knew that bit by bit she could weaken it. She left her defense until the last moment, and then braced herself for the coming magic.

The sensation was unexpected, and Cassandra distantly heard herself give a shout of pain. Though she’d seen Solas practicing it, and Lavellan slowly picking up the very same tricks, Cassandra had never had that sort of magic cast at her before. It felt as if her legs had suddenly become sharply numb, pulled simultaneously in every direction and none, as if every part of her legs all the way through to the bone had been ripped apart and put back together again a hundred times in the space of a second.

This was rift magic? The power Lavellan pulled on every time she closed one of those damn things? Maker’s breath.

Cassandra bore it, ducking under cover of her shield while she recovered. It wouldn’t be so hard next time, now that she knew the kind of pain she was in for. Her legs still prickled, but she would be fine. When the Nightmare bashed her shield again, she held.

Thankfully, at that point, Hawke pulled a stunt with her sword, bringing it to bear straight over the Nightmare’s head. The Nightmare raged, disappearing.

That was new.

She thought she saw it flickering in the corner of the eye, but when she turned, there was only the omnipresent haze of the Fade. She stayed wary, waiting. It would re-emerge.

It did, slicing itself back into view with a lunge at Hawke, who swore loudly and darted out of the way with just enough time to spare. Hawke engaged the Nightmare, still cursing.

Cassandra took advantage of the free moment to observe the battlefield. Varric set off another line of mines somewhere off to the left. Dorian was casting spells at anything that moved, while Lavellan appeared to be corralling fear demons with clever use of her lightning, backing them into corners or up against red lyrium in the ground. More of them were emerging now, swarming, crawling from cracks in the dirt and beginning to ooze. She caught sight of a few heading towards Lavellan’s unprotected back.

Eager to stab at something that wouldn’t attack her with magic, Cassandra began to hack at the maggots in that direction.

“Cassandra!”

Too late, Cassandra realized that the Nightmare had decided Hawke wasn’t enough to sate it. It had reappeared behind her. Its claws found an opening at the back of her neck, slipping nimbly beneath her helmet.

She lost track for a moment - if she yelled or screamed, she didn’t know - and when she returned to her senses, she was already moving away on instinct. She didn’t dare lift her hand to check the wound. It stung, burning into her back, and her muscles felt weak. Had it torn one? Something felt damp - sweat? Blood? She wasn’t certain. The Nightmare laughed.

She defended herself against maggots on autopilot, slowly regaining her bearings. She caught Lavellan giving her concerned looks, and ignored them, focusing on watching Lavellan’s back.

Strangely, she wasn’t afraid. Either it was a mortal cut, or it was not, and it didn’t matter. She would fight to escape this realm, either way.

When the maggots thinned out again, she chanced a look back at the Nightmare. It was weaker, she noted with a rush of pride. As an animal cornered, it lashed out more fiercely, with less control. It was dangerous - and doomed.

Perhaps it was the foolish thing to do, but Cassandra returned to the fray, eager for a chance to make it pay for her wound. While Alistair had it pinned down on the other side, Cassandra went on the offensive. She scored it on its chest, ducked around a minor spell, and managed another scratch up its side. She wasn’t the only one cutting it, either - its blood was starting to come sluggishly from more than one slice.

It made a lunge she wasn’t completely prepared for, and briefly threw her off-balance. Cassandra cursed and stumbled, trying to get her feet back beneath her as the Nightmare approached, its laughter once more booming from all around.

A bolt caught it spot-on in the shoulder, causing it to flinch partway through the movement. Cassandra found her balance, and it was all the opening she needed.

“For Andraste!” she snarled, darting forward and plunging her sword deep into its belly. It keened and snarled at her, starting to stagger and fall, but she held, tearing the sword deeper down its chest before removing it, flinching away from the blood that followed its trail.

Though it writhed, all it had left was death throes. The maggots scattered, fleeing into the far reaches of the Fade where they would not be crushed beneath Hawke’s heel, like the unfortunate demons that chose to remain.

They’d won.

Sagging with relief, Cassandra reached for a health potion. Her hands were shaking. She was coming down off the high of battle and feeling the wretched sting at the back of her neck again, and she couldn’t quite get her thumb to slip around the bottleneck the way it was supposed to.

“Seeker, are you alright?” said Varric. Hands - Dorian’s, she belatedly noticed - took the potion away from her, and when it was returned to her hand, it had been opened. She drank without questioning, and though she felt warmer, better, the sting was too much for the potion to quell completely. It was definitely blood she felt soaking into her underclothes. She wondered how much. The potion would help with that.

“Probably,” she said, finally answering Varric’s question. He grimaced, undoubtedly about to berate her.

“Let’s get out of here while we can,” Lavellan said, cutting any sentimentality short as she stalked up towards the rift. “I doubt we’ve banished it for long.”

“Come on,” Hawke said, throwing her arm around Cassandra for a bit of extra support.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Cassandra insisted. “I’m certain it’s just a surface wound.” She was sure of no such thing, but worrying would do none of them good, and she could carry her own weight for now.

Hawke didn’t let up. “Don’t care.” Worse, Alistair came around to her other side with an arm around her waist.

When Cassandra glared at him, he only grinned back. “No chance.” She wondered if he even knew about the cut he’d received just in front of his ear, mostly dry by now.

That was as much time for frivolity as any of them had. The rift was still far, up a hill and then some, but they were closing the distance.

Dorian leapt through the rift first, taking no chances. Varric glanced back at Cassandra, and whatever he saw made him nod and run through as well. The Inquisitor reached the rift next, but she paused in front of it, waiting.

And a massive segmented leg fell between them, blocking their way. Its aspect had been destroyed, but the larger body had returned, making an unholy sound.

“How do we get by?” Alistair shouted.

Hawke didn’t hesitate. “Take Cassandra and go,” she said, pushing away. “I’ll cover you.” It was one of those rare moments where Cassandra could see the stature of the Champion of Kirkwall in her, the alluring determination in her eyes, and it was the worst possible time.

“No,” Alistair said, loosening his grip, “I will. The Wardens caused this mess. A Warden will -”

“Are you daft? Wait, I already know you are, and that daft sense of responsibility is exactly why the Wardens need you alive! Besides,” she added glaring up at the Nightmare, “Corypheus and I have a score to settle.”

“Then settle it with Corypheus, not his big, fanged, pet demon spider!” Alistair retorted.

Cassandra looked around. This bickering was getting them nowhere, and they were both talking as if they were going to die. As if they wanted to, almost. But there had to be something she could do, anything. She was not as injured as they thought her, and if either of them died here, then all this would be for nothing.

And she had an idea. One she might not survive, maybe, but also, one she _could_ survive. It was a slim chance, but one she would never have considered without Justinia’s intervention, without the memories of another self still swirling angrily in her head, and as such, the plan felt right. It felt as if, somehow, it was the thing she was meant to do.

She shoved Alistair away, standing on her own. “Go,” she said.

Hawke scoffed. “If you think I’m going to let you throw your life away -”

“I have more of a plan than hacking and smashing at it, which is more than either of you two can say. If I die in the attempt, so be it, but I have no intention of doing so.”

“And this plan conveniently involves us leaving?” Alistair asked skeptically.

Cassandra ignored him, staring down Lavellan, who was trying to cast at the spider leg to get it to move. “Give me five minutes,” she shouted. “If I succeed, I will return. If not, then I have failed.”

“Are you sure?” Lavellan yelled. The nightmare lowered another leg, closer to Lavellan this time.

Cassandra stretched her neck and rolled her shoulders. She winced slightly, but completed the motion. “Yes.”

“Then I’ll see you in five minutes, or Leliana will have my head!” Lavellan shouted back.

“You can’t be serious!” said Hawke, but Cassandra was already turning to the Nightmare’s looming form, clearing her mind, readying herself. She drained herself of emotion, leaving only the things she felt she needed: focus, and faith.

She set off at a run towards the Nightmare, first hoping to draw its attention away from the rift.

As she’d hoped, when she approached its body, it lowered itself, retreating slightly, and moving its legs away from the rift. Hawke and Alistair would reach Lavellan, now.

Of course, that meant she had its jaws to contend with. It snapped and bit at her. Less nimbly than she’d have liked, she dodged, watching carefully and stepping aside when it made its move. The Nightmare in this form was slow and bulky, but still, Cassandra wanted to stay well away. As powerful as it appeared, it was possible that a mere scratch, combined with the venom it likely carried, could kill her easily.

Having caught its ire, she began to back away, fending off its attacks easily with her shield and sword. It was playing with her, she knew. Then, she took off at a faster pace, headed near the center of the battlefield, well away from the rift.

She knew it was vital to time this just right, and she knew she was capable of it.

Cassandra slowed to a stop. A spear of red lyrium jutted out behind her, cutting off her movement. This close, she could almost feel it, like a niggling parasite trying to worm its way in. Cassandra ignored it. She stared at the Nightmare, once more clearing her mind of fear, worry, doubt, or anything that could hinder her. She strained her Seeker training to its fullest potential, knowing what was about to happen could go very, very wrong.

A line from the Chant of Light rung in her mind, and she focused on it, leaving space for little else.

As the Nightmare prepared to strike, she muttered only, “From these emerald waters doth life begin anew.”

The Nightmare rushed forward to bite her, and she ducked and slid under it, shoving up and backward with her shield.

Between the Nightmare’s momentum and her little push, there was enough force to send the Nightmare’s fangs directly into the lyrium. She heard the red lyrium crack and shatter, sending little pieces flying everywhere. A small chunk flew towards the back of her neck, reigniting the sting from her cut. She heard the singing - the bright, tempting chorus - and she felt dizzy, but she managed to tear the lyrium away with one hand and run from beneath the Nightmare.

The Nightmare was angry. It had gotten a mouth full of sharp lyrium shards. Cassandra bolted for the rift, running as quickly as her legs would take her.

She heard it pick itself up again behind her. It stomped, then stomped faster, approaching too quickly. Cassandra didn’t dare look back. There was a noise in the air, so high-pitched she could barely hear it. The ground beneath her rumbled forbiddingly, as if the stone was about to give away.

Though Cassandra couldn’t say what effect a mouthful of Fade-wrought raw red lyrium would have on demons, she doubted it would be a good one. If symbols mattered in the Fade as Solas claimed, then she could think of no greater symbol than red lyrium for a deep, invasive corruption. She doubted even a demon would deal well with such power.

Perhaps if she was very lucky, the Nightmare would sicken and die. She doubted it, but maybe it would put it down for a handful of weeks or months or years, and even that would be doing the world a favor.

True to her hopes, its stomping slowed, and the high-pitched noise grew louder. Spurred by hope, Cassandra gave the last of her energy, ignoring her burning limbs, and she ran through the glow of rift, praying to herself in verse.

-

Adamant dawned on her in hazy shades of grey and blue. There were flutterings of green in the air, and then they snapped away. Cassandra realized she was on her hands and knees, trembling, staring up. She saw a face, square-jawed with a big nose, and thought she’d be safe.

“Varric,” she said fondly, though the word might have come out a bit slurred. Perhaps her wound really had been mortal. She’d begun to think it wasn’t a big deal after all.

Woozy, not really hearing his words, or anyone else’s, Cassandra leaned against Varric and closed her eyes. She was so very tired.

She hoped she would wake up. She had a message to deliver, and a dwarf to make up with. It would be very unfortunate, were she to die with such things left undone.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait! Thanksgiving threw my schedule for a bit of a loop, leaving me little time to work past the roadblock I'd met revising an important part of this chapter. In apology I'll try and post the final chapter of Dreaming Red within the next two days. :)

The first time she woke, she found herself flat on her back on a cot. A bleary-eyed glance around told her she was in some secluded tent, left to rest alone. The light coming from outside flickered - a campfire, not the light of the sun. It was night.

Wondering if anyone else was around, she tilted her head up a little. The back of her neck pulled, but the vicious stinging she had felt before, in the Fade, was gone. Someone must have worked some healing magic on the cut. Apart from that, her whole body ached from head to toe. She must have truly overexerted herself to be in such a state, even after healing.

She caught sight of Solas sitting nearby. He was asleep, his head tilted back slightly, his staff propped against a leg of his chair. For a sleeping person, he looked remarkably composed, with the exception of a few smears of blood on his sleeves.

Ah. Healing magic. Cassandra closed her eyes for a moment, thankful.

Cassandra glanced up a little further. There was a small table by her cot. There, she saw a glass of water, a plate with some crackers, and a lightly used copy of the _Tale of the Champion_ \- not hers. Cassandra was touched. She wondered if someone had the forethought to put her sword and shield nearby, should she need them, though she hoped she wouldn’t.

Though she felt better, she was still exhausted. Carefully, she took the glass of water on the table and managed a few gulps. The crackers held no appeal for her, just yet.

She put the glass back, turned on her side, and drew up the blanket that had been draped over her waist. Soon, despite the aches in every joint, she fell back to sleep.

-

“Cassandra. Cassandra?”

Someone was tapping her shoulder. She opened her eyes quickly, trying to sit up. Her neck ached, reminding her that perhaps fast movement wasn’t the best idea. She began to sit up more slowly, fixing her eyes on Cullen. The full-body ache from the last time she’d woken was still present, but far more manageable.

“Yes?” she asked.

Cullen gave her a pained look. “You’re recovering from serious injuries, and you’re still waking up sounding like you’re ready for orders?”

Cassandra chuckled slightly. “Habit,” she said. “I’ve had many taskmasters for commanders. Why did you wake me?”

Shaking his head, Cullen pulled over the chair Solas had occupied earlier and took a seat. He put down a small bowl of something - food, Cassandra hoped - on the table nearby. “Some of the camp left yesterday, but the bulk of us, including the Inquisitor, are heading back to Skyhold in a couple of hours. I wanted to see how you felt before we left, and find out if you thought you had the strength to ride back with us. Your belongings have been packed by Dorian, not that he reported all that much packing to do. Sorry for waking you.”

“It’s no trouble,” Cassandra said truthfully. “I feel very well-rested, and a far sight better.”

Cullen pulled a face she couldn’t identify. “Really?”

“Really,” she said. She stretched out her legs and her arms, and rolled her head around gently. While she wouldn’t want to go into battle anytime soon, she could manage well enough without exacerbating her injuries, she thought. The general ache could be ignored, and her neck could be managed if she was careful. “A painkiller would be nice,” she noted.

“You’re already on one,” said Cullen. He sounded a little exasperated, and Cassandra couldn’t for the life of her figure out why.

“Then so long as I stay on one, I think I will be fine,” Cassandra reasoned. “I’d rather be at Skyhold as soon as possible.”

Cullen opened his mouth to argue with her, then, again with that kicked-puppy expression, stopped. “I’m not picking you up if you fall off the horse,” he said in warning.

Cassandra smiled, mock-sweetly, or as close to it as she could manage. “I’ll just get Dorian to do it. Do thank him for packing my things for me, if you see him first.”

“Glad to see you’re feeling better,” Cullen said, with only slight sarcasm. “I’ll give you the report on Adamant later, if you don’t mind waiting.”

“I assume we accomplished our mission?”

“Very much so.”

“Then it can wait.” Cassandra paused. “Have you seen Varric?”

“Not since Solas politely kicked everyone out of here for fussing. Why?”

Cassandra laughed a little at the thought. “Nothing important.”

“Then I’m going to go inform the Inquisitor that you’re awake, and a masochist,” said Cullen.

“Tell her I’m fine, and she needn’t rush to see me. I’ll talk with her later.”

“Right, right.”

He left, and Cassandra remained a little amused, still wondering whatever it was she’d said that annoyed him. Perhaps he was just underestimating her wellness, and worrying about her? That was sweet, but she knew her limits well enough.

Thoughtfully, she touched the back of her neck. There was bandaging there, but she could feel its shape underneath, and winced only slightly as she drew her finger across. The cut had left a tender jagged line. It had bled a lot, she thought, for a cut that seemed far longer than it was deep.

She levered herself up to her feet slowly, and continued to stretch a little, making attentive note of what agitated her injuries and what didn’t. She found a pair of clean clothes nearby, next to her packed bags, all neatly put together. Cassandra had to stop for a moment. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so cared for - maybe once or twice when she was working with Leliana for the Divine, but Leliana was only one person, and had only been able to do so much.

Quietly, with something like reverence for the kindness shown to her, Cassandra donned the light, fresh clothes. With her belt secured and her sword, found beneath her cot with not a speck of demon blood to be found on its blade, affixed to it, she started to feel a little more like herself.

The bowl Cullen had brought turned out to be a light vegetable soup, slightly cooled, but still warm enough to be delicious. Cassandra ate it gratefully, knowing she’d need her energy, even if she wasn’t exactly hungry yet. When she was done, she set the bowl aside thoughtfully.

She stepped out of the tent, wondering if there was anything she could help with without straining herself. At the least, she planned to walk around the camp a little, and make sure everybody knew she was well.

And she needed to thank Solas, after all.

-

Nearly everybody seemed shocked that she was up and about. It wasn’t until she ran into Leliana that she was made to understand why.

“It was just a cut,” Cassandra complained. “Why are all my friends treating me as if I’m made of glass?”

Leliana paused in signing a report, glancing up. “You’re joking, right?”

“Should I be?”

“That was not ‘just a cut,’ Cassandra,” Leliana informed her. “Do you honestly not know?”

“What is it?”

“Maker give me strength,” Leliana muttered, haphazardly passing the signed report to the fumble-fingered messenger who had brought it. “The damn cut wouldn’t close, Cassandra, and you were twitching this way and that soon after you collapsed. It put us all into something of a panic. No one had any idea what had happened to you, until Solas got a good look and told us you’d been in physical contact with red lyrium. Contact with regular lyrium is bad enough. We had no idea what red lyrium would do.” Leliana cross her arms. “You seemed to be in pain all night, I’m told, even when the twitching faded, even after he managed to knit that cut back together. I’m just thankful you were unconscious for most of it.”

Cassandra paled. It had to be that chunk that had struck her in the back of the neck. She hadn’t even thought it had touched her. At the time, it had felt as if it had merely hit her helmet. That explained a lot. Red lyrium and an open wound… No wonder everybody was concerned.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t know. I haven’t seen Solas, and I didn’t know I had come into contact with it. That does explain the aching…”

“How could you miss it?” Leliana asked skeptically. “No, I don’t want to know the answer to that. I’ll hear your story later. I’m just glad you’re in one piece, chère amie.”

Cassandra sighed. “For what it’s worth, I truly do feel quite well, all things considered. I mean it when I say I’ll be able to ride out with all of you.”

“I’m glad to hear it. But please forgive anyone who’s skeptical. After last night, it’s hard to believe you could make a recovery so quickly.”

“It explains why I hear Solas had to kick all of you out,” Cassandra mused wryly.

Leliana looked faintly embarrassed - a rarity, for her. “I suppose it does.”

She left Leliana to her work, continuing her rounds around the camp with a little less irritation towards the gawkers. Puzzling over what had happened, Cassandra figured that her body and mind must have rejected any trace the red lyrium had left behind, much as it had in the other timeline. The difference was that she wasn’t awake to feel it, this time.

Varric was hanging out by the makeshift stables, it turned out. He was talking quietly with one of the horses, muttering something she couldn’t make out.

“Varric,” she said warmly. There were others around, but none really within earshot.

Surprised, he looked at her with awe. As the awe faded, he looked her up and down, undoubtedly assuring himself that she was alright. He cleared his throat, tensing a little. “Good to see you on your feet, Seeker.”

“Likewise. Everything well?”

“Much better now,” he said, just a little on the flirtatious side. Even as he said it, he averted his eyes from her, looking at the horse again. “You had me a little worried.”

“So I’ve heard. Leliana had more than a few words for me,” Cassandra said, approaching. Taking his cautious lead, she kept her distance slightly. “Who is this?”

“You don’t recognize her?” Varric gave a smile. “Dennet gave her to me for the ride up here. Iron Bull named her something over my shoulder, no idea what it was or what it meant. I call her Tasha.”

“She seems lovely,” Cassandra murmured.

“Yeah. She’s not much of a warhorse, just the gentlest beast I’ve ever met. Don’t know how Dennet knew I’d get on with her. That man knows horses almost as well as I know the bars in Lowtown.” He glanced up at her. “Are you coming back with us?”

“Yes.”

“Seriously? I’m surprised you’re even walking.”

“I’ll be happier on the road than I would be stuck with the rear group,” Cassandra admitted. “I’m not in perfect condition to ride, but I’m better than everybody seems to believe I am.”

“You can take Tasha, if you want.”

“What?”

“She might be easier on you than your usual horse,” Varric explained. “Fit to ride or not, I’ll eat the kid’s hat if you’re not still smarting from whatever bullshit you pulled.”

Cassandra didn’t reply right away, observing him. The offer seemed very genuine. She couldn’t quite read him just now, but she could pick up on hints - a bit of worry, a bit of confusion, a bit of that quiet kindness he rarely let out to play.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’d appreciate that.”

“No problem,” Varric said. He shuffled his feet a little, teetering. “We should… talk,” he said reluctantly.

Part of her wanted to agree with him, but he was clearly on edge. “We don’t _have_ to have that talk now, if it troubles you,” Cassandra offered, though she slightly hated herself for it. It was a pain being noble, sometimes.

“I…” Varric sighed, clearly frustrated, perhaps with himself. “Maybe that’s for the best,” he agreed. “But we should talk. I would very, very much _like_ to have that talk. Just…”

“Not now,” said Cassandra.

“Not here, not now.” He grimaced, then looked up at her with clear concern. “You’re really alright?”

“I will be,” she murmured. “Truthfully, it was a shallow cut. The problem was the red lyrium, not the cut itself. The lyrium is gone now.”

“You’re sure?”

Cassandra glanced at the horse to avoid rolling her eyes. “I think I would know,” she muttered.

Varric snorted. “My bad.” Cautiously, he laid a hand on her arm. “Take good care of yourself, Seeker. I mean it.”

“I won’t strain myself, I promise.”

“Really? You promise it?” He removed his hand from her arm and raised a pair of very skeptical eyebrows. “If you don’t keep that promise, I swear to Andraste, I’m going to raid the library for the worst Tevinter poetry we’ve got, I’m going to figure out where you’ve gone and gotten yourself bedridden, and I’m going to read it to you, line by excruciating line.”

“Why won’t anyone believe me?” Cassandra asked, throwing up her hands. “I’ve never had a habit of resisting my recovery before now, and I don’t intend to start.”

“You know, that might actually be convincing from a woman who hadn’t, as I’m told, insisted that _she_ be the one allowed to throw her life at the biggest baddest demon around, because sure, she was going to get herself killed, but at least she had a _plan_.”

Cassandra blinked. Varric actually had a bit of a point there. Her lips twitched as she tried, badly, to hide a smile. “To be entirely fair, my plan did work. There was just a… a small complication.”

Varric scoffed, “Small, she says!” But he was smiling as he did it.

“No, really,” Cassandra said. “It was pure chance that I got hit with a small piece of red lyrium. It could just as easily have harmlessly passed me by.”

Shaking his head, Varric asked, “Why were you in danger of being hit with red lyrium in the first place?”

“That would be telling.”

“Anything I can do to get the story out of you now?”

“You won’t be hearing it before I get to tell everyone. I won’t have you stealing my thunder, Varric. Nothing you can do will change my mind.” When Varric gave a wicked grin, she added, “ _Nothing._ ”

“Spoilsport,” Varric accused. He walked past her, brushing her arm. “I’m going to go tell Master Dennet we’re playing switcheroo, and just for that, I’m going to make him think it’s something scandalous!”

Cassandra laughed as he left, feeling light-hearted. If flirting was still on the table, then perhaps that talk really could wait a little.

She refused her impulse to skip away like a giddy noblewoman with a suitor on her mind, but she couldn’t stop the little smile that settled into her face, nor did she want to.

-

The trip back to Skyhold seemed to go by in a flash. The first few days were incredibly exhausting for her, and she had to drag herself to a bed very soon after they stopped every night. But, as Varric had said she would, Tasha had made the ride easier. Cassandra recovered from her injuries, perhaps slower than she would have had she not been on the road, but regardless only the cut on the back of her neck still hurt by the time they arrived.

She regaled their little group with the tale over a fire one night. Varric and Dorian made sure to “ooh” and “aah” at all the appropriate times, though the story took on a somewhat more solemn note when she mentioned the lyrium that had hit her neck. Nevertheless, it seemed to Cassandra that everyone believed she was a genius (Cullen), braver than the most lionhearted of chevaliers (Leliana), and quite good at adapting to unfamiliar situations (Solas).

After that, Leliana disseminated information throughout the army and other key personnel. Though it did help to quell some of the particularly outrageous rumors, others persisted. Hawke was of no help. She cheerfully informed anyone who would ask that Cassandra had felled a demon the size of Val Royeaux with her sword alone, even when the demon grew enormous, demonic wings and began to fly. Varric, meanwhile, had decided to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth - and nobody believed him, claiming he was either overselling the true events, or that the real truth was something far grander, part of an enormous conspiracy which the Inquisition’s commanders were all keeping secret.

At such accusations, Varric would merely wink, disclose nothing, and conveniently leave Cassandra open to the hero worship of the entire camp. It was rather annoying to find out that Varric could tell the truth and yet still find a way to exacerbate gossip and get on her nerves.

She wasn’t sure what to make of their relationship at the moment, but despite the odds it remained friendly, and still somewhat flirty when there was nobody around to hear. Come what may, it seemed that they were in a good place with each other now, better than ever. She was surprised how content she was to let that talk wait for a time when it felt right, when matters had settled down, when the both of them had healed and the world was no longer slightly tilted out of whack.

In the meantime, she spoke with Alistair and Hawke, who were departing for Weisshaupt as soon as possible. Apparently Lavellan had asked for the Wardens’ support in Inquisition matters, and under Alistair’s leadership and Hawke’s guidance, the Wardens who yet lived had agreed to give it.

Cassandra had witnessed Hawke’s parting with Varric, which surprised her with its touching sincerity - though they made a number of jokes and insulted each other, as expected, Hawke had also swept Varric up in a big, warm hug, and he had returned it briefly before claiming allergies to displays of emotion. Cassandra also spoke with Alistair, who seemed hopeful that their journey north might cross paths with the Hero of Ferelden, his expression a hair dreamy as he mentioned it.

When the pair finally left, Hawke turned and blew a dramatic farewell kiss to Cassandra, and Cassandra sank into her saddle, embarrassed, as Varric began to laugh.

At least nobody else seemed to know what to make of it, though Leliana gave Cassandra a thoughtful expression. Cassandra gave some thought to confiding in her, sometime soon. She had set aside the idea of talking with someone until after Adamant, and now that she had survived the mission, she had little excuse to put it off. Perhaps she would seek assistance with her minor case of a mid-life sexuality crisis there.

Alongside her recovery and the various discussions that went on in the wake of Adamant, Cassandra also dealt with a handful of nightmares. It seemed that now that the memory-dreams were over, her mind had decided to plague itself with horrible fantasies instead of horrible truths. They were easier to deal with than the memory-dreams, but it was still unpleasant to sleep and dream of the Nightmare, in spider form, grinning wide while it chased her through the Fade and swallowed her whole.

They would pass, she knew, or at least become scarcer as time went by. It was almost a relief to have normal nightmares again, the kind she knew how to deal with.

One last day’s trip away from Skyhold, one such nightmare woke her. Heading outside to catch some fresh air, she ran into Solas, tending a lonely fire.

She gave a little wave as she approached, and he lifted a hand in greeting. She took a seat on the ground nearby, and gazed past the fire in contemplative silence. Solas remained quiet as well.

It was nice to have a friend who understood the value of silent companionship, Cassandra thought to herself. She ran over the nightmare in her mind, coming to terms with it, setting it to rest. The Nightmare was gone, now. If she was very lucky, she might never set foot in the Fade to greet it again. She had faced it and won, she reminded herself.

In a while, when she was calm, she glanced at Solas. “Thank you,” she said. “Without your help, I doubt I could have done what I did.”

Solas didn’t look at her, but his expression softened. “It was no trouble,” he said. “If you ever have any other questions about the Fade, I’ll answer, but I suspect you’ve had enough of it to last you for a while.”

“One could say that,” Cassandra agreed. “Sometimes I wish it were simple. Just me and the enemy, no demons or politics trying to alter my course.”

“Things are never simple,” said Solas. “It’s foolish to wish them so. But I understand.” He glanced up at the sky. “Then again, perhaps our goals would not be worth accomplishing if there weren’t complications trying to force us off our path.”

“Something like that.”

In the morning, Cassandra was eager to return to Skyhold. She wanted to settle into her routine again - early mornings, paperwork, training, and the occasional chat with friends. After feeling chained to the mystery of her memories for so long, the knowledge of where they had come from, while heartbreaking, had set her free.

-

At the first opportunity, in the early hours of the morning when the rest of the Inquisition had not yet woken, Cassandra went to the little chapel tucked away by the garden.

It was dark in there, not yet lit by the sun, and empty. It was a little dusty, but the statue of Andraste at the back still gave the room a sense of holiness and peace. Cassandra, who had worn dark colors of mourning, knelt by the altar, praying silently.

She had thought, when the conclave exploded and all of this had started, that she had put her grief aside, but she knew now she had been holding on to hope, however faint, ever since she’d found the Inquisitor passed out at the center of it all.

There was no telling what sort of being she had met in the Fade that had taken her name, but Cassandra felt, with all her heart, that at least some part of it had been true. It had, at the very least, thought it was Justinia. She didn’t think it had intentionally been false, if it had been false at all. It had also likely acted as Justinia would have.

And no matter what its nature, there was no denying now that Justinia was truly dead. A new Divine would need to claim the Sunburst throne. She had known this to be true, but it carried more weight now, and she felt herself mourning all over again.

Mixed together with the grief, her reaction to Justinia’s betrayal still stung. Worse, it did not lessen Cassandra’s love for her. She understood why Justinia had given her those cursed memories, and she couldn’t say whether she would have done the same thing were their positions exchanged, but it was not out of the question.

She had been deeply hurt. She wanted to forgive Justinia, but she could not, and even if she could Justinia was far beyond forgiveness now. Cassandra wondered if the Maker would still bring Justinia to His side, even though she had set foot in the Fade, as no one should. She had been flawed, human, but she had been an inspiration to Cassandra, and her anger warred with her wish to see Justinia happy, forever to rest in the place souls went after death.

Eventually, another entered the chapel. Leliana approached the altar and knelt beside her.

“Good morning,” Cassandra murmured.

“Good morning,” Leliana returned. She sighed, drawing her hood back. “Have you been here long?”

Cassandra glanced at the window. “It was darker outside when I came,” she said. “It must be almost sunrise now.”

Leliana nodded in understanding. She was hesitant, at first, but then she slipped a hand out of her sleeve, taking one of Cassandra’s. Softly, she spoke. “I wish I could have been there with you.”

“She asked me to tell you she had failed you, and she was sorry,” Cassandra said around the lump in her throat.

“She never failed me,” Leliana said fiercely, but her voice cracked tellingly. It was a hard sentiment to stand by when the consequences of her actions still rattled them. As her hollow words faded, she sighed again. “She loved us,” she said, far quieter. “I have no doubt of that.”

“She believed in us,” Cassandra agreed. “What she did was horrible, and for precisely that reason, I think she would have done it to nobody else. She did love us. She simply loved this world, loved the Maker, more.”

Leliana sobbed and bowed her head, pained. Cassandra had realized days ago that she had seen Justinia through rose-tinted lenses, but it seemed as though Leliana was only now reaching that same point.

Cassandra got to her feet. “I’ll leave you to your vigil,” she said. “Come see me later, please?” The words came out pleading. She hadn’t wanted to hurt Leliana, she had wanted to help.

“Of course,” she said, like it was something very simple, like Cassandra hadn’t just cut her with words. It ripped Cassandra straight through with guilt.

“Leliana,” she began, “what I did in that timeline, abandoning you… Come what may, I will never do that again,” Cassandra swore. “Never. Understand?”

“There’s no need for such an oath, but I thank you for it all the same,” Leliana said, looking towards the statue of Andraste. “If such a thing happened, I would rather you were practical -”

“I don’t give a damn about practical. I won’t let that happen again.” Cassandra swallowed. “I never want to do to you what Justinia did to us.”

Leliana hesitated. “Even if, someday, I might do such a thing to you myself?”

“I hope you would not, but yes, even then.”

It was a moment before Leliana replied. She lifted her head, and Cassandra saw, by the light of the sunrise just beginning to shine, that she had tears in her eyes and a gentle smile on her face. It seemed to Cassandra that Leliana had been perfectly framed by the sunlight, lit by a beam that shone through the window straight past Andraste’s outstretched arms. It caught the edge of her cheekbone. She was, in that moment of grief and gratitude and forgiveness, utterly beautiful. Cassandra couldn’t help but admire her.

“Thank you,” she said. “That means a great deal to me, Cassandra, and I will never forget it. May the Maker walk with you, and aid you wherever you go.”

Cassandra nodded stiffly, at a loss for words. She managed a small smile, and left the chapel in a hurry. She was strangely proud of herself, and no small amount awed at the woman Leliana was coming to be.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've really enjoyed writing Dreaming Red and I'm glad I was able to finish it. Thanks to all of you sticking with this fic to the end!

Cassandra settled back into her routine very quickly, surprising even herself with how smoothly she was able to carry on. Though the wound remained sensitive, she was able to take off the bandages on her neck. She had already been off the painkiller for some time.

She practiced with her sword in the mornings as usual, but went through many of the motions at a slower pace, having no intention of reopening the cut with a careless mistake. It was probably good for her to slow down, truthfully. It turned her mornings into a time of focus and peace rather than a period for simply working out or releasing anger, and she was considering adding an occasional practice session like that to her regular routine.

Making her usual rounds of Skyhold, she ran into everyone, and everyone had some kind of reaction to what had happened. Many, like Sera, were content with little gestures, such as leaving cookies with crude icing drawings on top of her desk. (They were delicious.) Others were chattier about the matter.

Iron Bull had an interesting reaction. When she’d run into him, he had said something like, “A huge spider demon is almost as good as a dragon,” and demanded to see her wound. Amused, Cassandra had gone with it, turning and pulling down the back of her collar with one finger.

He’d whistled. “A worthy scar,” he’d said. “You take good care of it.”

“It’s rather ugly, I’m told. My few glances in a mirror have agreed.”

The Iron Bull laughed at her. “Nah. Just makes you infinitely more fuckable, if you ask me.”

“Charming,” Cassandra drawled, covering it back up again.

By incredible contrast, when Josephine saw it, she began to fret like a worried nursemaid over an injured child.

“Are you sure it’s fine?” Josephine said, one hand over her mouth in horror. “It looks so angry, puffy and red like that. It couldn’t be healed any better?”

“There were complications,” Cassandra hedged, because she doubted saying ‘the red lyrium interfered with its healing’ was about to calm Josephine down. “I’m sure it will be a mean-looking scar, but it will heal on its own like anything else. I will be fine.” Why everybody else was so concerned with her scar’s appearance, any which way or the other, was completely beyond her.

“But it has to hurt!”

“Of course it does,” Cassandra muttered.

“Oh, don’t go all stoic warrior on me,” Josephine grumbled. She began rummaging around in her desk for something. “I don’t care if you’re in pain, you know. Go on, say ‘ouch’. Honestly! Maker, that’s going to be an ugly scar.”

“I really don’t care that much,” said Cassandra. “It’s not my first and it won’t be my last.”

“Yes, but it’s right _there_! And it doesn’t have that dashing valor of that cheekbone cut of yours. Nobody here will care, of course, but you’ll need a good collar to cover it if you’re to go to Halamshiral!”

“Dashing valor?” Cassandra said skeptically, but then she caught up with the rest of what Josephine had said. “Wait… Why would I be going to Halamshiral?”

“For the ball, of course,” Josephine said nonchalantly. “Ah, here it is!” She triumphantly pulled a little jar out of her desk. “Put this ointment on it. It should help with the puffiness a little.”

Cassandra hadn’t heard a single word of that. “Ball?” she asked faintly.

“Yes, of course! You’re scheduled to come along.”

“I’m expected at a _ball_?”

Josephine peered at her. “Yes… _The_ ball, truthfully. You didn’t know?”

“No. No one told me. Please excuse me,” she grumbled. “The Inquisitor and I are going to have _words._ ” Cassandra pivoted, ready to storm out of the room, but she stopped. Turning and giving a nod of thanks, she took the little jar from Josephine’s hands, and properly stormed out of the room.

Her? At a ball? This was a very bad idea, and Cassandra intended to make the Inquisitor know her opinion.

She wasn’t precisely sure where the Inquisitor was at this time, unfortunately. Lavellan had a way of never being in the same place for very long. However, she had a fairly good idea for finding out where Lavellan had gone.

When she walked over to Varric’s usual spot in the middle of the hallway, he caught sight of her and immediately raised his hands. “Whatever you’re mad about, it wasn’t me,” he said quickly.

Cassandra ignored that. “Where’s Lavellan?”

“Last I knew, she’d gone up to see Dorian about something.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“Anytime.” Varric smirked. “You know you’re extremely attractive when you’re absolutely murderous, right?”

Though Cassandra rolled her eyes, surprisingly, the comment calmed her down a little. Instead of murderous, as Varric had put it, she merely felt angry. “I am not having this discussion with you,” she told him.

“Just making sure,” he said, now smiling brightly.

“Why must you always antagonize me?” Cassandra asked, pained.

He gave her a hurt, innocent look. “Didn’t I just answer that question?”

If Varric had intended to deflect some of her anger at Lavellan by taking it on himself, it was somewhat working - and he had to know, as well as she did, that she would easily forgive him for it. Absolutely infuriating.

“I’m going to get you for that,” she muttered, heading past him. She thought he muttered something about looking forward to it.

She climbed the staircase up to the library quickly, and as promised, found Lavellan cheerfully chatting with Dorian.

“Inquisitor,” Cassandra said.

Lavellan froze up and slowly turned her head around. “Oh… Hi, Cassandra,” she said with a sheepish smile.

Behind her, a sadistic grin began to grow on Dorian’s face, and Cassandra truthfully couldn’t blame him.

-

Days passed. Unable to persuade Lavellan otherwise, Cassandra was forced to resign herself to the fact that she would be attending a damn ball. She’d been at least a little bit pacified by the promise that she wouldn’t forced into wearing a dress of any sort. Lavellan was still debating the exact terms, but she and Josephine were planning on having the Inquisition show a united front, possibly with standardized uniforms. Lavellan and Josephine both emphasized that no matter what they settled on, there would be an option with pants for Cassandra to wear. Assured of that, Cassandra reluctantly agreed.

If she had thought things would settle down after Adamant, she was wrong. Preparations for an appearance at an imperial ball, complete with political intrigue and the possibility of murder, surprised Cassandra by being every bit as complex as the preparations one needed to send an army. She stole moments alone and with friends when she could, though she never did find herself alone with Varric, for whatever reason. They weren’t avoiding each other, or at least, she didn’t think they were.

Most nights, she fell into bed exhausted, and woke without remembering any dreams in the morning. Occasionally, she had a good dream, and more of those than she would tell him included Varric. Occasionally, she had another nightmare. On those nights, she had developed a habit of heading to the kitchen. She had found Dorian there several times. Apparently, Dorian was something of a night owl, or an insomniac. Either way, she wasn’t complaining. It was soothing to chat about trashy novels and teach Dorian about tea.

She hadn’t talked much with Cole, but she often saw him feeding the animals around Skyhold or trailing after Varric. After a very short trip they, the Inquisitor, and Solas had made to Redcliffe not long after returning from Adamant, Cole and Varric had been stuck together, “thick as thieves” in Sera’s words, though ironically Cassandra was quite sure Cole was committing less theft. Cole seemed to disappear less often, and always smiled at her when she walked into the room. Something had changed, but it seemed to be for the better, and when she found the occasional sweet on her desk she thought she knew who had put it there.

Cassandra found herself content. She had thought she had been so before, but at the time she had still been plagued by the strangeness of her dreams, and it was nothing compared to how she felt now. Her experience in the Fade had given her a confidence in herself that she hadn’t felt since before the Conclave.

The only outstanding question seemed to be Varric, as always, but even there she felt optimistic.

She’d expected something out of books - turmoil, awkwardness, confusion dragging down every word between them, stirring up drama and causing heartache, but there was none of that. Perhaps it was simply that there was very little to doubt. She had admitted that she loved him, and he hadn’t been able to respond, but that didn’t mean he might reach that point. It was very, very clear that he cared for her, and that was more than enough.

She was somewhat aware (thanks to Vivienne, who seemed determined to look out for the reputation Cassandra didn’t care about) that rumors about them were flying all around Skyhold. Let them, she thought with satisfaction. She owed them no answers, and Varric undoubtedly delighted in keeping everybody guessing.

If they were very lucky, Cassandra supposed she and Varric could keep Skyhold on its toes for a very, very long time.

-

It had only been fifteen minutes since they’d entered the shop, and already, if the Inquisitor cooed over some sort of smooth piece of fabric one more time, Cassandra was going to slice one of those expensive shop mannequins in two.

“What about this one, Cassandra?” Lavellan held up a blue swatch, made of something like silk. “What do you think of the color?”

Cassandra peered at it. “It’s… very blue,” she said.

Vivienne sighed. “No, no, that cornflower hue is _much_ too bright,” she corrected. “It will clash if we still plan on scarlet highlights.”

“Wouldn’t cornflower be a yellow or orange color? Like… corn?” Varric asked, puzzled. In response, Vivienne gave him an incredibly exasperated look.

“I liked the fabric more than its color anyway,” Lavellan replied, trying to keep the peace. “Something more solemn? A darker color, perhaps?”

“I don’t see the appeal of blue and red in the first place,” Cassandra muttered. How was she supposed to know that color was cornflower? What even _was_ a cornflower?

“That’s enough of that,” said Vivienne. She fixed a glare at Varric and Cassandra. “Inquisitor, you may be willing to let this rabble stand around, but I will not accept these two interrupting the creative process any further. If you’re not interested in important details like the _proper_ names for color, leave.”

“It’s okay,” Lavellan interrupted. “You can stay -”

“No, they really can’t,” Vivienne interrupted, “and if you’re worried about bodyguards I’ll inform you that I’ll do the job myself, Inquisitor. It only takes one extremely competent individual to watch your back in a small shop like this.”

“No need to say more, Iron Lady,” said Varric, grinning. “I’ll just see myself out. You ladies have fun with your fancy colors. What about you, Seeker?”

“Right behind you,” she said, relieved for the chance to go.

Lavellan sighed. “Fine, fine. I expect you both back here in an hour and a half, does that sound fair? Go,” she said, making shooing motions with her hands. “And Varric, don’t get drunk and embarrass us.”

Varric clapped a hand over his heart. “Who, me?”

Cassandra leveled a mock glare at him. “If it pleases you, Inquisitor, I would be glad to keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t insult the first pretentious Marquis who happens to pass him in the street.”

Laughing, Lavellan shooed them away again. “As if you wouldn’t shout at the same Marquis, given the opportunity. Just go!”

As they left the shop, Varric made a point of dramatically holding the door open for her. “Where to, my Lady?” he asked.

“Whoever said I was going anywhere with you?” Cassandra asked, quite obviously planning on going somewhere with him.  She glanced around Val Royeaux, appreciating the familiar buildings in the bright light of the sun. She had not been to this expensive market area very often, but she had been here enough that the streets felt welcoming to her and she knew their names.

“That’d be you, just now, when you essentially appointed yourself my keeper,” he rejoined.

Cassandra smiled at him. “Very true. I suppose I shall just have to keep you in my sights.”

Varric smiled back, though he looked away quickly. “What do you think about finding that one café? You know, the one with the really good rolls, just over the bay?”

“On the Rue de la Mer?” Cassandra shrugged. She started off in that direction, and Varric quickly fell into step. “Good idea. They were delicious, if expensive.”

“I’ll pay for us both, if the cost really concerns you.”

“Of course,” Cassandra said. “Isn’t that the traditional thing to do when you ask somebody on a date, anyway?”

She took great, great satisfaction in the way Varric stumbled, tripping over a loose rock in the road. Catching his balance again, he cleared his throat. “Now that’s just playing dirty, Seeker.”

“I never said that I play fair,” she replied, still smiling.

“I’m a bad influence on you,” Varric mourned, looking up at the sky as if seeking divine assistance. “When did I become the straight-laced one in this relationship?”

“If you’re seriously trying to convince me that you’re straight-laced, I may have to argue with you.”

“That hurts. I’m awfully respectable these days. And when I say awfully, I mean that it’s awful.” He stopped in the middle of the road. “Shit. You can find your way there, right?”

“What is it?”

“Nothing, nothing, it’s just…” Varric sighed, shook it off, and grinned at her. “Never mind,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Cassandra crossed her arms. “Oh, no, you’re not getting off that easy. What’s wrong?”

“It’s really nothing.”

“ _Varric_.”

“Okay, okay!” He threw up his hands. “I told Daisy I’d pick something up for her next time I was in Val Royeaux. I only just remembered. But it’s no big deal, really, I’m sure I can get Lavellan to let me run out and grab something later.”

“That’s not a problem, Varric. You can go get her something now.”

“No, no.” Varric crossed his arms. “I owe you a talk, remember? And a date, apparently. Wouldn’t be right of me. I like to pretend I’m a gentleman sometimes, you know.”

“Varric, it’s fine.” Cassandra smiled. “It should take you, what, fifteen minutes? I’ll get us a table, order us drinks, and you can show up and brag about how much Merrill is going to love what you picked out for her.”

He hesitated. “You sure?”

“Of course.”

Varric grinned, and Cassandra suspected she’d just been had, for some reason. “Then I’ll see you soon, Seeker.” He began whistling something as he walked off in a different direction.

Deciding not to worry about it, Cassandra continued on to the café. It was certainly one of the most gorgeous spots in all Val Royeaux, she thought, approaching the street. It was built on a cliff overlooking the Waking Sea, and from there, one had a beautiful view of the White Spire, as well. Cassandra took a seat, gazing out at the Spire with a hint of nostalgia as she waited for their drinks - some tea, a blend she liked that she’d also seen him drink at the Herald’s Rest when he wasn’t ordering alcohol.

He took just long enough that she had begun to make jokes to herself about being stood up, but of course, he arrived right on time, just as their tea had become cool enough to drink. “Thanks for waiting,” he said, and on cue he pulled out a small bouquet of carnations in whites and reds.

Cassandra was taken aback. “For - me?” She took them slowly, utterly shocked by the gesture.

“I lied,” Varric said, grinning. “Though, I did pick something up for Daisy, anyway. The florist had these bookmarks with flower designs, and I found one with a daisy, and, well, I couldn’t resist. But mostly I lied.”

“I can’t remember the last time somebody got me flowers,” she said truthfully. She adjusted them with one hand. “What a lovely gesture.”

“I was almost expecting you to toss them in the river,” Varric admitted, properly taking his seat.

“I’m going to let you in on a secret you should already know, Varric.” Cassandra leaned back, smiling slightly. “I like romance. I like courting. The sappy, useless parts included.”

Varric snorted. “Right. Why do I forget you’ve read _Swords & Shields _cover to cover when it least suits me? Anyway… Courting, huh?” He nodded in thanks at one of the servers, who had come over with a makeshift vase for Cassandra to put the flowers in. “I don’t know a whole lot about courting,” he hedged. He said the word with a certain amount of reluctance.

“I don’t need to be treated like I’m some fine lady and you must get all the steps right,” Cassandra said, rolling her eyes. She placed the bouquet in the vase, arranging it with one hand. “When I say courting, I mean only the act of it, the little things, flowers and sweet words. It’s not as if I’m concerned with marriage, now, or perhaps ever.”

Varric gave a quiet laugh. “That’s a little reassuring. Flowers and sweet words, I can do. I haven’t given a whole lot of thought to… to those particular kinds of long-term commitments. Not in a long time, anyway.”

“And you are giving thought now?” Cassandra fished, trying not to hold her breath waiting for his answer.

He took her hand, and she inhaled, understanding, as he kissed the back of it. Her heart pounded. “Cassandra, I’ve been more in love with you than I’ve wanted to admit to myself for a long time,” he said quietly, fixing her in place with warm eyes. “If there’s one thing I understand from all that Fade bullshit, it’s that I have a chance to make you, and myself, very happy. I want to take it. Romance, courting, anything you want. I’m yours, for as long as you’ll have me.”

Cassandra leaned forward, gripping his hand with both of hers. “I doubt it will that easy,” she murmured. “You still have commitments in Kirkwall, and I with the Seekers. There will certainly be those who disapprove, and make that disapproval known.”

Varric chuckled, deeply, smiling handsomely, sweetly, with a light in his eyes that drew her like moth to flame. “You’re something special, Seeker. I don’t really care about easy. What about you? If we head back to Skyhold and I carry you over the threshold, is that going to be a problem?”

“I do like a _little_ more discretion than that,” Cassandra said dryly, “and I have no intention of shouting anything from any balconies. But I’ve decided recently that I really don’t care what people think, and I’m not going to let the thoughts of any stuffed-up complainer who thinks themselves important define any of my actions.”

“Nice life philosophy,” Varric said, grinning. “So, as far as public displays of affection go, does that mean I can kiss you in broad daylight at a café in Val Royeaux?”

She lifted a hand to his chin, marveling that she could. “Why haven’t you already?”

To his credit, Varric didn’t hesitate at that point. He wrapped a hand around her neck, and she leaned into his touch, eager, willing. His fingers caught on the scar at the back of her neck - almost entirely healed now, but still taking the shape of a raised slash across her skin, and moreover, still very sensitive. She shuddered a little.

He stopped inches from her, crestfallen. “Shit. Sorry.”

Goodness, he was kind. She leaned her forehead against his, closing her eyes. “Don’t worry,” she said quietly. “That was a good sensation, not a bad one.”

She expected some kind of quick repartee on the subject of good sensations, but he was quiet for a moment, tracing the scar with his fingers while his other hand still held hers. “When you collapsed, I panicked,” he admitted. “Lavellan took control of the situation, and Dorian didn’t know what was wrong but he was pouring magic into you… I just kind of followed. Then Solas diagnosed the problem, found small bits of red lyrium…” He took a deep breath; she could feel it. “I came this close to losing _another_ person I care about to the damn stuff. I joked with you about it later. I didn’t want to… Didn’t want to put you through knowing how badly I’d reacted.”

Cassandra’s stomach flipped a little. “You didn’t need to tell me this,” she said, opening her eyes to look into his.

He shrugged. “I think I did. You’re really healed? And it doesn’t feel bad if I…” He brushed a finger over her scar, again.

She laughed. “The opposite, if anything.”

Varric's answering grin stretched from ear to ear. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he murmured, finally closing the gap.

Feeling warm and cozier than she could have dreamed, Cassandra welcomed the kiss, and the ones that followed it, and savored a moment she believed she would never forget.


End file.
